UNCOLLEGTED 
WRITINGS 


ESSAYS,  ADDRESSES,  POEMS, 
REVIEWS  AND  LETTERS 


BY 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON 


Now  First  Published  in  Book  Form 


THE   LAMB   PUBLISHING   COMPANY 
NEW   YORK 


COPYRIGHT,  1912,  BY 
CHARLES  C.  BIGELOW 


G 

Ls 


INTRODUCTION 

FOR  many  years  the  editor,  in  common  with  other 
collectors  of  American  first  editions,  has  known  of  the 
existence  of  much  Emerson  material  that  has  never 
heen  permanently  placed  in  book  form  or  gathered  in 
any  collected  edition  of  Emerson's  Works.  As  early 
as  1866  an  edition  of  Emerson  appeared  in  London 
labelled  "  Complete  Works,"  but,  though  much  mat 
ter  was  crowded  into  the  two  volumes,  it  was  very 
incomplete.  In  1869,  1876,  1881  and  1883  collected 
editions  appeared,  bearing  the  imprints  of  Fields, 
Osgood  &  Company  and  their  various  successors,  but 
on  these  editions  no  claims  were  made  as  to  complete 
ness.  In  1884  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  of  Boston, 
published  a  twelve-volume  edition  of  Emerson  called 
the  Riverside  Edition,  labelling  it  "  The  Complete 
Works."  This  edition  was  edited  by  J.  E.  Cabot, 
but  while  Mr.  Cabot  included  in  the  Riverside  Edi 
tion  much  material  that  had  never  before  been  pub 
lished  in  book  form,  he  failed  to  include  a  great  mass 
of  material,  essays,  addresses,  speeches  and  poems, 
which  he  must  have  known  existed. 

In  1903-4  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.  issued  the 
Centenary  Edition  of  Emerson,  in  twelve  volumes, 
the  work  being  edited  by  Edward  Waldo  Emerson. 
This  edition  contains  much  matter  not  included  in  the 
previous  Riverside  Edition,  but,  although  the  pub 
lishers  again  claimed  completeness  for  their  book,  they 
again  neglected  to  include  all  known  material. 

As  the  matter  stands  to-day,  no  such  thing  as  a 
really  complete  edition  of  Emerson  has  ever  been 

iii 

255864 


iv  INTRODUCTION 

issued,  no  matter  what  publishers'  title-pages  may  say 
or  claim. 

This  present  volume  contains  nothing  but  authentic 
Emerson  material  not  appearing  in  any  of  the  col 
lected  editions  or  in  any  of  the  so-called  "  Complete 
Works."  Many  of  the  pieces  in  this  volume  are  of 
great  importance  and  should  have  been  given  to  the 
public  long  ago.  The  initial  piece,  "  Nature,"  is  an 
individual  essay,  distinct  from  all  others  of  the  same 
or  similar  title,  and  appeared  in  "  The  Boston  Book  " 
in  1850.  The  article  on  Amos  Bronson  Alcott  was 
written  for  the  "  New  American  Cyclopedia "  in 
1858.  Emerson's  address  entitled  "  The  Right  Hand 
of  Fellowship,"  and  his  addresses  at  the  Japanese 
Banquet,  the  Froude  Dinner  and  the  Bryant  Festival, 
are  all  important  and  worthy  of  preservation.  Pre 
vious  editors  have  reprinted  Emerson  on  Carlyle's 
"  Past  and  Present,"  but  have  overlooked  his  Review 
of  Carlyle's  "  French  Revolution." 

During  the  years  1840  to  1844  Emerson  contrib 
uted  liberally  to  "  The  Dial,"  a  quarterly  magazine 
published  in  Boston.  More  than  seventy-five  pieces 
of  Emerson's  writings,  including  essays,  poems  and 
reviews,  appeared  in  this  magazine  during  the  four 
years  of  its  existence,  and  this  material  has  been 
largely  drawn  upon,  but  not  exhausted  by  the  various 
Emerson  editors.  In  this  present  volume  we  have 
reprinted  from  "  The  Dial  "  all  of  the  papers  omitted 
by  previous  editors,  and  they  are  thirty-two  in  num 
ber. 

Included  in  this  volume  are  six  poems  that  have 
not  been  reprinted  since  their  first  appearance  in  the 
early  annuals  where  they  were  first  published.  A 
number  of  Emerson's  letters  conclude  this  volume, 
two  of  them  being  of  special  importance.  One  is  the 
Letter  to  the  Second  Church  and  Society,  March, 


INTRODUCTION  v 

1829,  accepting  the  invitation  to  become  pastor  of 
that  church,  and  the  other  is  the  Letter  to  the  Second 
Church  and  Society,  dated  December,  1832,  addressed 
to  the  congregation  after  he  had  delivered  his  famous 
sermon  entitled  "  The  Lord's  Supper/'  on  September 
9th,  1882,  which  was  followed  by  his  resignation. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

INTRODUCTION iii 

ESSAYS  AND  ADDRESSES 

Nature 3 

Amos  Bronson  Alcott 9 

Right  Hand  of  Fellowship 11 

Address  at  Japanese  Banquet 15 

Address  at  the  James  Anthony  Froude  Dinner   .    .  18 

Speech  at  the  Bryant  Festival 20 

Arthur  Hugh  Clough      23 

Carlyle's  French  Revolution 26 

PAPERS  FROM  THE  DIAL 

The  Editors  to  the  Reader 31 

Thoughts  on  Art 36 

The  Senses  and  the  Soul 52 

Transcendentalism 60 

Veeshnoo  Sarma 65 

Fourierism  and  the  Socialists 71 

Intelligence 77 

English  Reformers       84 

The  Death  of  Dr.  Channing 113 

Tantalus 115 

Ethnical  Scriptures 123 

BOOK  REVIEWS  FROM  THE  DIAL 

New  Poetry 137 

Two  Years  Before  the  Mast 153 

Social  Destiny  of  Man 153 

Michael  Angelo 154 

The  Worship  of  the  Soul      157 

Jones  Very's  Essays  and  Poems 160 

The  Ideal  Man 162 

The  Zincali 163 

Ancient  Spai^"  h  Ballads 165 

Tecumseh  .    .        166 

Tennyson's  PC    is 167 

Letter  to  Rev.  \rm.  E.  Channing 172 

vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Confessions  of  St.  Augustine 174 

The  Bible  in  Spain 176 

Paracelsus      177 

Antislavery  Poems 177 

Wm.  Lloyd  Garrison's  Sonnets  and  Poems    ....  178 

America 178 

Wm.  E.  Channing's  Poems 179 

The  Spanish  Student 180 

The  Dream  of  a  Day 181 

POEMS 

My  Thoughts 185 

The  Phoenix 186 

Faith 187 

The  Poet 188 

Word  and  Deed 188 

To  Himself 189 

LETTERS 

Letter  to  Chandler  Bobbins 193 

Letter  on  William  Emerson 194 

Letter  to  Samuel  Gridley  Howe 195 

Two  Letters  to  Henry  Ware,  Jr 197 

Letter  to  the  Second  Church  and  Society,  March, 

1829 200 

Letter  to  the  Second  Church  and  Society,  December, 

1832 202 

Letter  of  Protest 206 

Letter  to  Walt.  Whitman  208 


ESSAYS   AND   ADDRESSES 


NATURE 

THERE  are  days  which  occur  in  this  climate,  at 
almost  any  season  of  the  year,  wherein  the  world 
reaches  its  perfection,  when  the  air,  the  heavenly  bod 
ies,  and  the  earth,  make  a  harmony,  as  if  nature 
would  indulge  her  offspring;  when,  in  these  bleak 
upper  sides  of  the  planet,  nothing  is  to  desire  that 
we  have  heard  of  the  happiest  latitudes,  and  we  bask 
in  the  shining  hours  of  Florida  and  Cuba;  when 
everything  that  has  life  gives  signs  of  satisfaction, 
and  the  cattle  that  lie  on  the  ground  seem  to  have 
great  and  tranquil  thoughts.  These  halcyons  may 
be  looked  for  with  a  little  more  assurance  in  that  pure 
October  weather,  which  we  distinguish  by  the  name 
of  the  Indian  Summer.  The  day,  immeasurably  long, 
sleeps  over  the  broad  hills  and  warm  wide  fields.  To 
have  lived  through  all  its  sunny  hours,  seems  longevity 
enough.  The  solitary  places  do  not  seem  quite  lonely. 
At  the  gates  of  the  forest,  the  surprised  man  of  the 
world  is  forced  to  leave  his  city  estimates  of  great 
and  small,  wise  and  foolish.  The  knapsack  of  custom 
falls  off  his  back  with  the  first  step  he  makes  into  these 
precincts.  Here  is  sanctity  which  shames  our  relig 
ions,  and  reality  which  discredits  our  heroes.  Here  we 
find  nature  to  be  the  circumstance  which  dwarfs  every 
other  circumstance,  and  judges  like  a  god  all  men 
that  come  to  her.  We  have  crept  out  of  our  close 
and  crowded  houses  into  the  night  and  morning,  and 
we  see  what  majestic  beauties  daily  wrap  us  in  their 
bosom.  How  willingly  we  would  escape  the  barriers 
which  render  them  comparatively  impotent,  escape 

3 


4  ":'  ..: 

the  sophistication  and  second  thought,  and  suffer 
nature  to  entrance  us.  The  tempered  light  of  the 
woods  is  like  a  perpetual  morning,  and  is  stimulating 
and  heroic.  The  anciently  reported  spells  of  these 
places  creep  on  us.  The  stems  of  pines,  hemlocks,  and 
oaks,  almost  gleam  like  iron  on  the  excited  eye.  The 
incommunicable  trees  begin  to  persuade  us  to  live 
with  them,  and  quit  our  life  of  solemn  trifles.  Here 
no  history,  or  church,  or  state,  is  interpolated  on  the 
divine  sky  and  the  immortal  year.  How  easily  we 
might  walk  onward  into  the  opening  landscape,  ab 
sorbed  by  new  pictures,  and  by  thoughts  fast  succeed 
ing  each  other,  until  by  degrees  the  recollection  of 
home  was  crowded  out  of  the  mind,  all  memory  ob 
literated  by  the  tyranny  of  the  present,  and  we  were 
led  in  triumph  by  nature. 

These  enchantments  are  medicinal,  they  sober  and 
heal  us.  These  are  plain  pleasures,  kindly  and  native 
to  us.  We  come  to  our  own,  and  make  friends  with 
matter,  which  the  ambitious  chatter  of  the  schools 
would  persuade  us  to  despise.  We  never  can  part 
with  it ;  the  mind  loves  its  old  home ;  as  water  to  our 
thirst,  so  is  the  rock,  the  ground,  to  our  eyes,  and 
hands,  and  feet.  It  is  firm  water;  it  is  cold  flame: 
what  health,  what  affinity!  Ever  an  old  friend,  ever 
like  a  dear  friend  and  brother,  when  we  chat  affectedly 
with  strangers,  comes  in  this  honest  face,  and  takes 
a  grave  liberty  with  us,  and  shames  us  out  of  our 
nonsense.  Cities  give  not  the  human  senses  room 
enough.  We  go  out  daily  and  nightly  to  feed  the 
eyes  on  the  horizon,  and  require  so  much  scope,  just 
as  we  need  water  for  our  bath.  There  are  all  degrees 
of  natural  influence,  from  these  quarantine  powers  of 
nature,  up  to  her  dearest  and  gravest  ministrations 
to  the  imagination  and  the  soul.  There  is  the  bucket 
of  cold  water  from  the  spring,  the  wood-fire  to  which 


NATURE  5 

the  chilled  traveller  rushes  for  safety,  —  and  there  is 
the  sublime  moral  of  autumn  and  of  noon.  We 
nestle  in  nature,  and  draw  our  living  as  parasites  from 
her  roots  and  grains,  and  we  receive  glances  from  the 
heavenly  bodies,  which  call  us  to  solitude,  and  foretell 
the  remotest  future.  The  blue  zenith  is  the  point 
in  which  romance  and  reality  meet.  I  think,  if  we 
should  be  rapt  away  into  all  that  we  dream  of  heaven, 
and  should  converse  with  Gabriel  and  Uriel,  the  upper 
sky  would  be  all  that  would  remain  of  our  furniture. 
It  seems  as  if  the  day  was  not  wholly  profane,  in 
which  we  have  given  heed  to  some  natural  object. 
The  fall  of  snowflakes  in  a  still  air,  preserving  to 
each  crystal  its  perfect  form;  the  blowing  of  sleet 
over  a  wide  sheet  of  water,  and  over  plains,  the  wa 
ving  rye-field,  the  mimic  waving  of  acres  of  hous- 
tonia,  whose  innumerable  florets  whiten  and  ripple 
before  the  eye;  the  reflections  of  trees  and  flowers  in 
glassy  lakes;  the  musical  steaming  odorous  south 
wind,  which  converts  all  trees  to  wind-harps;  the 
crackling  and  spurting  of  hemlock  in  the  flames;  or 
of  pine  logs,  which  yield  glory  to  the  walls  and  faces 
in  the  sitting-room,  —  these  are  the  music  and  pic 
tures  of  the  most  ancient  religion.  My  house  stands 
in  low  land,  with  limited  outlook,  and  on  the  skirt  of 
the  village.  But  I  go  with  my  friend  to  the  shore 
of  our  little  river,  and  with  one  stroke  of  the  paddle, 
I  leave  the  village  politics  and  personalities  behind, 
and  pass  into  a  delicate  realm  of  sunset  and  moon 
light,  too  bright  almost  for  spotted  man  to  enter 
without  novitiate  and  probation.  We  penetrate  bod 
ily  this  incredible  beauty:  we  dip  our  hands  in  this 
painted  element :  our  eyes  are  bathed  in  these  lights 
and  forms.  A  holiday,  a  villeggiatura,  a  royal  revel, 
the  proudest,  most  heart-rejoicing  festival  that  valor 
and  beauty,  power  and  taste,  ever  decked  and  en- 


6  NATURE 

joyed,  establishes  itself  on  the  instant.  These  sunset 
clouds,  these  delicately  emerging  stars,  with  their  pri 
vate  and  ineffable  glances,  signify  it  and  proffer  it. 
I  am  taught  the  poorness  of  our  invention,  the  ugli 
ness  of  towns  and  palaces.  Art  and  luxury  have 
early  learned  that  they  must  work  as  enhancement 
and  sequel  to  this  original  beauty.  I  am  over  in 
structed  for  my  return.  Henceforth  I  shall  be  hard 
to  please.  I  cannot  go  back  to  toys.  I  am  grown 
expensive  and  sophisticated.  I  can  no  longer  live 
without  elegance:  but  a  countryman  shall  be  my 
master  of  revels.  He  who  knows  the  most,  he  who 
knows  what  sweets  and  virtues  are  in  the  ground,  the 
waters,  the  plants,  the  heavens,  and  how  to  come  at 
these  enchantments,  is  the  rich  and  royal  man.  Only 
as  far  as  the  masters  of  the  world  have  called  in  na 
ture  to  their  aid,  can  they  reach  the  height  of  magnif 
icence.  This  is  the  meaning  of  their  hanging-gardens, 
villas,  garden-houses,  islands,  parks,  and  preserves,  to 
back  their  faulty  personality  with  these  strong  acces 
sories.  I  do  not  wonder  that  the  landed  interest 
should  be  invincible  in  the  state  with  these  dangerous 
auxiliaries.  These  bribe  and  invite;  not  kings,  not 
palaces,  not  men,  not  women,  but  these  tender  and 
poetic  stars,  eloquent  of  secret  promises.  We  heard 
what  the  rich  man  said,  we  knew  of  his  villa,  his  grove, 
his  wine,  and  his  company,  but  the  provocation  and 
point  of  the  invitation  came  out  of  these  beguiling 
stars.  In  their  soft  glances,  I  see  what  men  strove 
to  realize  in  some  Versailles,  or  Paphos,  or  Ctesiphon. 
Indeed,  it  is  the  magical  lights  of  the  horizon,  and  the 
blue  sky  for  the  background,  which  save  all  our  works, 
of  art,  which  were  otherwise  baubles.  When  the  rich 
tax  the  poor  with  servility  and  obsequiousness,  they 
should  consider  the  effect  of  men,  reputed  to  be  the 
possessors  of  nature,  on  imaginative  minds.  Ah!  if 


NATURE  7 

the  rich  were  rich  as  the  poor  fancy  riches!  A  boy 
hears  a  military  band  play  on  the  field  at  night,  and 
he  has  kings  and  queens,  and  famous  chivalry  pal 
pably  before  him.  He  hears  the  echoes  of  a  horn  in 
a  hill  country,  in  the  Notch  Mountains,  for  example, 
which  converts  the  mountains  into  an  JEolian  harp, 
and  this  supernatural  tiralira  restores  to  him  the  Do 
rian  mythology,  Apollo,  Diana,  and  all  divine  hunters 
and  huntresses.  Can  a  musical  note  be  so  lofty,  so 
haughtily  beautiful?  To  the  poor  young  poet,  thus 
fabulous  is  his  picture  of  society;  he  is  loyal;  he  re 
spects  the  rich;  they  are  rich  for  the  sake  of  his  im 
agination  ;  how  poor  his  fancy  would  be,  if  they  were 
not  rich!  That  they  have  some  high-fenced  grove, 
which  they  call  a  park;  that  they  live  in  larger  and 
better  garnished  saloons  than  he  has  visited,  and  go 
in  coaches,  keeping  only  the  society  of  the  elegant,  to 
watering-places,  and  to  distant  cities,  are  the  ground 
work  from  which  he  has  delineated  estates  of  romance, 
compared  with  which  their  actual  possessions  are 
shanties  and  paddocks.  The  muse  herself  betrays  her 
son,  and  enhances  the  gifts  of  wealth  and  well  born 
beauty,  by  a  radiation  out  of  the  air,  and  clouds,  and 
forests  that  skirt  the  road,  —  a  certain  haughty  favor, 
as  if  from  patrician  genii  to  patricians,  a  kind  of  ar 
istocracy  in  nature,  a  prince  of  the  power  of  the  air. 
The  moral  sensibility  which  makes  Edens  and 
Tempes  so  easily,  may  not  be  always  found,  but  the 
material  landscape  is  never  far  off.  We  can  find 
these  enchantments  without  visiting  the  Como  Lake, 
or  the  Madeira  Islands.  We  exaggerate  the  praises 
of  local  scenery.  In  every  landscape,  the  point  of 
astonishment  is  the  meeting  of  the  sky  and  the  earth, 
and  that  is  seen  from  the  first  hillock  as  well  as  from 
the  top  of  the  Alleghanies.  The  stars  at  night  stoop 
down  over  the  brownest,  homliest  common,  with  all 


8  NATURE 

the  spiritual  magnificence  which  they  shed  on  the 
Campagna,  or  on  the  marble  deserts  of  Egypt.  The 
uprolled  clouds  and  the  colors  of  morning  and  eve 
ning,  will  transfigure  maples  and  alders.  The  differ 
ence  between  landscape  and  landscape  is  small,  but 
there  is  great  difference  in  the  beholders.  There  is 
nothing  so  wonderful  in  any  particular  landscape,  as 
the  necessity  of  being  beautiful  under  which  every 
landscape  lies.  Nature  cannot  be  surprised  in  un 
dress.  Beauty  breaks  in  everywhere. 


AMOS   BRONSON   ALCOTT 

AMOS  BRONSON  ALCOTT,  a  philosopher  devoted  to 
the  science  of  education,  was  born  at  Wolcott,  Conn., 
Nov.  29,  1799.  Like  many  farmers'  sons  in  Connect 
icut,  whilst  still  a  boy,  he  was  intrusted  by  a  local 
trader  with  a  trunk  of  merchandise,  with  which  he 
sailed  for  Norfolk,  Va.,  and  which  he  afterward  car 
ried  about  among  the  plantations ;  and  his  early  read 
ings  were  in  the  planters'  houses,  who  gave  hospital 
ity  to  the  young  salesman,  and,  observing  his  turn  for 
study,  talked  with  him,  and  opened  their  bookcases 
to  him  in  a  stormy  day.  On  his  return  to  Connecticut 
he  began  to  teach,  and  attracted  attention  by  his  suc 
cess  with  an  infant-school. 

He  removed  to  Boston  in  1828,  and  showed  sin 
gular  skill  and  sympathy  in  his  methods  of  teaching 
young  children  of  five,  six  and  seven  years  of  age, 
at  the  Masonic  Temple.  (See  a  printed  account, 
"  Record  of  a  School,"  E.  P.  Peabody,  12mo,  Bos 
ton,  1834;  also,  a  transcript  of  the  colloquies  of  these 
children  with  their  teacher,  in  "  Conversations  on  the 
Gospels,"  2  volumes,  12mo,  Boston,  1836.)  But  the 
school  was  in  advance  of  public  opinion,  and,  on  the 
publication  of  this  book,  was  denounced  by  the  news 
papers  of  the  day.  After  closing  his  school,  Mr. 
Alcott  removed  to  Concord,  Mass.,  where  he  betook 
himself  to  his  studies,  interesting  himself  chiefly  in 
natural  theology,  and  the  various  questions  of  reform, 
in  education,  in  diet,  civil  and  social  institutions. 

On  the  invitation  of  James  P.  Greaves,  of  London, 
the  friend  and  fellow-laborer  of  Pestalozzi  in  Swit- 

9 


10  AMOS    BRONSON   ALCOTT 

zerland,  Mr.  Alcott  went  to  England  in  1842.  Mr. 
Greaves  died  before  his  arrival,  but  Mr.  Alcott  was 
cordially  received  by  his  friends  who  had  given  his 
name  to  their  school  at  "  Alcott  House,"  Ham,  near 
London,  and  spent  some  months  in  making  acquain 
tance  with  various  classes  of  reformers.  On  his  re 
turn  to  America,  he  brought  with  him  two  of  his  Eng 
lish  friends,  Charles  Lane  and  H.  G.  Wright;  and 
Mr.  Lane  having  bought  a  farm  which  he  called 
"  Fruitlands,"  at  Harvard,  Mass.,  they  all  went  there 
to  found  a  new  community.  Messrs.  Lane  and 
Wright  soon  returned  to  England,  and  the  farm  was 
sold.  Mr.  Alcott  removed  to  Boston,  and  has  led  the 
life  of  a  Peripatetic  philosopher,  conversing  in  cities 
and  in  villages,  wherever  invited,  on  divinity,  on 
human  nature,  on  ethics,  on  dietetics,  and  a  wide 
range  of  practical  questions.  These  conversations, 
which  were  at  first  casual,  gradually  assumed  a  more 
formal  character,  the  topics  being  often  printed  on 
cards,  and  the  company  meeting  at  a  fixed  time  and 
place. 

Mr.  Alcott  attaches  great  importance  to  diet  and 
government  of  the  body;  still  more  to  race  and  com 
plexion.  He  is  an  idealist,  and  we  should  say  Pla- 
tonist,  if  it  were  not  doing  injustice  to  give  any  name 
implying  secondariness  to  the  highly  original  habit 
of  his  salient  and  intuitive  mind.  He  has  singular 
gifts  for  awakening  contemplation  and  aspiration  in 
simple  and  in  cultivated  persons.  Though  not 
learned,  he  is  a  rare  master  of  the  English  language ; 
and,  though  no  technical  logician,  he  has  a  subtle  and 
deep  science  of  that  which  actually  passes  in  thought, 
and  thought  is  ever  seen  by  him  in  its  relations  to  life 
and  morals.  Those  persons  who  are  best  prepared 
by  their  own  habit  of  thought,  set  the  highest  value  on 
his  subtle  perception  and  facile  generalization. 


RIGHT  HAND  OF  FELLOWSHIP 

AT  ORDINATION  OF  HERSEY  BRADFORD  GOODWIN,   1830 

THE  ancient  custom  of  offering  a  new  pastor  the 
expression  of  the  sympathy  of  the  churches  is  no  un 
suitable  rite  in  the  ceremonies  of  ordination,  and  hath 
a  deep  foundation  in  reason.  There  is  no  sympathy 
so  strong  as  that  which  exists  between  the  good,  and 
this  fellow-feeling  Christianity  has  done  all  to  foster. 
Whilst  men  are  in  the  moral  darkness  which  vice 
produces,  each  individual  is  a  sect  by  himself;  each  is 
a  self-seeker,  with  his  hands  against  every  man,  and 
every  man's  hands  against  him.  Each,  forgetful  of 
all  other  rights  and  feelings,  is  straining  every  nerve 
to  build  up  his  own  sordid  advantage,  and  tearing 
down  his  neighbor's  happiness,  if  need  be,  to  build 
up  his  own.  His  eye  is  blind,  his  ear  is  deaf  to  the 
great  harmonies  by  which  God  yoked  together  the 
social  and  the  selfish  good  of  his  children. 

Just  in  proportion  as  men  grow  wiser  and  better, 
their  efforts  converge  to  a  point.  For  as  truth  is  one, 
in  seeking  it,  they  all  aim  to  conform  their  action  to 
one  standard.  When  intelligent  men  talk  together, 
it  is  remarkable  how  much  they  think  alike,  how  many 
propositions  are  taken  for  granted,  that  are  disputed, 
word  by  word,  in  the  conversation  of  ignorant  per 
sons.  The  more  enlightened  men  are,  the  greater  is 
this  unanimity,  as  is  attested  by  the  common  wonder 
when  two  minds  of  unquestionable  elevation  come 
to  opposite  conclusions.  As  it  is  with  the  mind,  so  is 
it  with  the  heart.  As  two  minds  agreeing  with  truth 

11 


12      RIGHT    HAND    OF   FELLOWSHIP 

do  mutually  agree,  so,  if  their  affections  are  right  with 
God,  they  will  be  true  to  one  another. 

Christianity  aims  to  teach  the  perfection  of  human 
nature,  and  eminently  therefore  does  it  teach  the  unity 
of  the  spirit.  It  is,  not  only  in  its  special  precepts, 
but  by  all  its  operations,  a  law  of  love.  It  does,  by 
its  revelation  of  God  and  of  the  true  purposes  and 
the  true  rules  of  life,  operate  to  bind  up,  to  join  to 
gether,  and  not  to  distinguish  and  separate.  It  pro 
claimed  peace.  But  it  speaks  first  to  its  own  disci 
ples,  "  Be  of  one  mind,"  else  with  what  countenance 
should  the  church  say  to  the  world  of  men,  Love  one 
another.  And  thousands  and  thousands  of  hearts 
have  heard  the  commandment,  and  anon  with  joy  re 
ceived  it.  All  men  on  whose  souls  the  light  of  God's 
revelation  truly  shineth,  with  whatever  apparent  dif 
ferences,  are  substantially  of  one  mind,  work  together, 
whether  consciously  or  not,  for  one  and  the  same 
good.  Faces  that  never  beheld  each  other  are 
lighted  by  it  with  the  same  expression.  Hands  that 
were  never  clasped  toil  unceasingly  at  the  same  work. 
This  it  is  which  makes  the  omnipotence  of  truth  in 
the  keeping  of  feeble  men,  —  this  fellowship  in  all 
its  servants,  this  swift,  consenting  acknowledgment 
with  which  they  hail  it  when  it  appears.  God's  truth, 
—  it  is  that  electric  spark  which  flies  instantaneously 
through  the  countless  hands  that  compose  the  chain. 
Truth  —  not  like  each  form  of  error,  depending  for 
its  repute  on  the  powers  and  influence  of  here  and 
there  a  solitary  mind  that  espouses  it  —  combines 
hosts  for  its  support,  and  makes  them  co-operate 
across  mountains  and  oceans,  —  yea,  and  ages  of  time. 
This  is  what  was  meant  in  that  beautiful  sentiment  of 
ancient  philosophy,  that  God  had  so  intimately  linked 
all  wise  men  to  each  other  that,  if  one  should  only 
lift  his  finger  in  Rome,  all  the  rest  were  benefited  by 


RIGHT   HAND    OF   FELLOWSHIP    13 

it,  through  Egypt  or  Asia.  This  is  what  was  meant 
by  that  one  body  in  Christ,  of  which  all  his  disciples 
are  the  members.  Sir,  it  is  this  sentiment  which  is 
recognized  in  the  ancient  and  simple  rite  of  the 
churches. 

God  has  bound  heart  to  heart  by  invisible  and  eter 
nal  bands,  by  oneness  of  nature,  of  duty,  and  of  hope. 
To  us  is  "  One  Lord,  one  faith,  one  baptism."  And, 
in  acknowledgment  of  these  divine  connections  exist 
ing  between  us,  the  Christian  churches,  whose  organ 
I  am,  do  offer  you,  my  brother,  this  right  hand  of  their 
fellowship.  They  greet  you,  by  me,  to  the  exalted 
relations  on  which  now  you  are  entering.  They  give 
you  a  solemn  welcome  to  great  duties,  to  honorable 
sacrifices,  to  unremitting  studies,  and  to  the  eternal 
hope  of  all  souls.  They  exhort  you  to  all  pious  reso 
lutions;  and  they  pledge  to  you,  by  this  sign,  their 
sympathy,  their  aid,  and  their  intercession. 

They  say  to  you  that,  so  long  as  in  purity  of  heart 
you  do  the  work  of  God  in  this  vineyard  of  his,  you 
are  not  alone ;  but  you  shall  be  secure  of  the  love  and 
the  furtherance,  not  of  these  churches  only,  but  of  all 
righteous  men.  In  every  hour  of  perplexity  or  afflic 
tion,  they  shall  encourage  and  aid  and  bless  you,  by 
desire  and  by  word  and  by  action.  And  when  the 
day  of  success  comes  to  you,  and  you  see  around  you 
in  this  garden  of  the  Lord,  the  fruit  of  your  virtues 
and  the  light  of  your  example  and  the  truth  you  teach 
shine  forth  together,  in  that  day  a  kindred  joy  shall 
touch  our  hearts,  —  we  shall  be  glad  with  you,  and 
give  thanks  with  you,  and  hope  for  you. 

Sir,  it  is  with  sincere  pleasure  that  I  speak  for  the 
churches  on  this  occasion  and  on  this  spot,  hallowed 
to  all  by  so  many  patriotic  and  to  me  by  so  many 
affectionate  recollections.  I  feel  a  peculiar,  a  per 
sonal  right  to  welcome  you  hither  to  the  home  and 


14      EIGHT   HAND   OF    FELLOWSHIP 

the  temple  of  my  fathers.  I  believe  the  church  whose 
pastor  you  are  will  forgive  me  the  allusion,  if  I  ex 
press  the  extreme  interest  which  every  man  feels  in 
the  scene  of  the  trials  and  labors  of  his  ancestors. 
Five  out  of  seven  of  your  predecessors  are  my  kin 
dred.  They  are  in  the  dust  who  bind  my  attachment 
to  this  place,  but  not  all.  I  cannot  help  congratulat 
ing  you  that  one  survives,  to  be  to  you  the  true  friend 
and  venerable  counsellor  he  has  ever  been  to  me. 

I  heartily  rejoice  to  see  their  labors  and  a  portion 
of  his  resting  on  one  who  comes  with  such  ability, 
and,  as  I  trust,  with  such  devout  feeling  to  the  work. 
Suffer  me  then,  as  for  them,  to  offer  you  my  hand, 
and  receive  with  it,  my  brother,  my  best  wishes  and 
prayers  for  your  success  in  your  great  undertaking 
and  for  your  everlasting  welfare. 


ADDRESS  AT  JAPANESE  BANQUET, 
AUG.  2,  1872 

MR.  PRESIDENT  AND  GENTLEMEN:  —  I  feel  hon 
ored  by  serving  as  the  mouth-piece  of  this  company 
for  a  moment.  The  great  deserts  of  this  occasion  and 
the  interest  of  this  company  might  inspire  a  greater 
coward  than  myself. 

I  shall  share  with  this  company  the  respect  with 
which  they  regard  this  embassy.  It  is  full  of  romance 
to  us.  Hitherward  come  a  people  with  whom  our 
history  has  been  but  little  occupied,  a  people  who  have 
hidden  themselves  in  their  slow  and  private  national 
growth.  It  is  six  hundred  years,  as  I  understand, 
since  Marco  Polo  saw  on  the  shores  of  the  Yellow 
Sea  one  great  island,  and  that  island  was  one  of  the 
three  islands  of  Japan  —  Niphon  and  Yesso  and  Ki- 
ovsoa.  Columbus,  it  seems,  took  this  book  of  Marco 
Polo  in  his  hands,  and  when  he  arrived  at  Cuba  he 
thought  he  had  arrived  at  Japan.  He  had  not  come 
there,  but  he  showed  mankind  the  way  from  thence 
to  Japan,  and  President  Fillmore  found  it.  Not,  I 
think,  until  1852  was  Commodore  Perry  sent  by  Pres 
ident  Fillmore  to  make  a  treaty  with  Japan,  so  slow 
was  the  progress  of  our  acquaintance  with  the  nation 
whose  representatives  we  greet  to-night. 

There  is  something  very  interesting  in  the  history 
of  that  nation.  I  remember  that  in  my  college  days 
our  professor  in  Greek  used  to  tell  us  always  in  his 
record  of  history,  "All  tends  to  the  mysterious 
East;  "  and  so  slow  was  the  progress  that  only  now 
are  the  threads  gathered  up  of  relation  between  the 

15 


16         THE    JAPANESE    BANQUET 

farthest  East  and  the  farthest  West.  The  nation  has 
itself  every  claim  on  us.  The  singular  selection  that 
it  showed  in  appealing  to  America  for  its  guidance 
and  assistance  in  western  civilization,  the  brave  and 
simple  manner  in  which  it  has  sent  its  pupils,  its  young 
men,  to  our  schools  and  colleges  and  to  learn  our  arts, 
is  a  great  honor  to  their  wisdom  and  their  noble  heart. 
There  is  humanity  as  well  as  there  is  ambition.  I  am 
very  glad  to  be  apprised  by  very  competent  critics  in 
art  that  in  certain  arts  there  has  been  no  such  success 
in  other  nations  as  in  Japan,  that  their  bronzes,  and 
not  only  so  but  the  arts  of  design  when  applied  to 
outline  drawings,  are  more  masterly  than  are  to  be 
found  in  Europe  or  America.  And  I  have  to  say  that 
I  think  the  American  government  and  American  his 
tory  owes  great  thanks  to  the  enlightened  policy  of 
President  Fillmore  who,  in  1852,  sent  Commodore 
Perry  to  that  country  and  introduced  a  new  thought 
into  his  embassy.  Instead  of  sending  to  what  he  sup 
posed  a  comparatively  foreign  and  unrelated  country, 
to  say  the  least,  to  the  civil  nations  —  instead  of  send 
ing  to  them  beads  and  rum  barrels,  he  sent  the  best 
of  our  civilization.  He  sent  the  very  best  instruments 
and  inventions  that  the  country  could  command.  He 
sent  the  steamboat.  He  sent  the  telescope.  He  sent 
the  telegraph.  He  sent  all  those  instruments  and 
machines  which  had  lately  attracted  and  strengthened 
western  civilization.  This  gift  was  gratefully  and 
nobly  received,  instantly  understood  and  remade  in 
that  country.  There  is  something  besides  art  in 
Japan  that  is  interesting  —  namely,  a  certain  strength 
in  the  constitution  and  the  character  of  the  Japanese, 
which  seems  to  have  been  revealed  by  many  of  these 
emigrant  scholars  who  have  honored  our  country; 
namely,  a  certain  force  of  mind  allied  to  religion 
which  marks  their  fidelity  to  their  chiefs.  I  under- 


THE    JAPANESE    BANQUET        17 

stand  that  if  a  young  man  in  Japan  finds  that  he  can 
not  raise  the  young  man  whom  he  has  undertaken  to 
guard  and  attend  to  an  equality  to  the  very  best  of  his 
class,  andSf  he  cannot  raise  him  above  those  who  are 
not  his  equal  in  rank,  he  suffers  so  much  pain  that 
he  cannot  return  to  that  country;  and  he  is  drawn 
into  a  resolution  that  is  self-sacrifice,  and  is  prepared 
for  the  suicide  of  himself  rather  than  that  his  fidelity 
to  his  chieftain  should  fail.  It  is  a  very  remarkable 
trait.  We  don't  understand  it  in  our  loose,  mercan 
tile,  popular  civilization,  but  it  is  a  prodigious  power 
to  those  people  that  possess  it.  One  thing  was  said 
to  me  in  relation  to  this  very  interesting  company  of 
our  friends  —  this:  That  they  are,  more  than  others, 
deeply  interested  in  education.  They  have,  indeed, 
honored  me  —  I  am  quite  undeserving  of  that  honor 
• — with  enquiries  in  regard  to  that  I  wish  I  could 
help  them.  I  wish  any  of  us  could.  The  best  advice 
I  can  give  to  them  is  to  say  that  next  week,  in  this 
city,  I  understand,  is  to  be  held  a  meeting  of  the  Na 
tional  Board  of  Education,  in  which,  among  other 
gentlemen  and  officers,  is  Mr.  Harris  of  St.  Louis  in 
Missouri,  who  is  the  head  there  of  the  city  education 
and  is  besides  the  editor  of  the  only  journal  of  specu 
lative  philosophy  edited  in  this  country;  a  very 
learned  and  a  very  able  man,  and  very  able  as  I  un 
derstand  in  this  particular  subject  of  education. 

I  should  wish  my  friends  to  make  his  acquaintance, 
as  I  doubt  not  he  would  be  very  glad  to  make  theirs. 
I  don't  know  any  person  that  could  advise  them  better 
on  the  subject. 

NOTE  —  This  address  was  given  at  the  banquet  given  at  the  Revere 
House,  Boston,  on  August  2,  1872. 


ADDRESS  AT  THE  JAMES  ANTHONY 
FROUDE    DINNER 

AT  DELMONICO'S,  NEW  YORK,  OCTOBER  15,   1872 

I  CONFESS,  Mr.  Chairman  and  gentlemen,  that  I 
have  accepted  your  invitation  to  this  banquet  in  good 
faith  and  humble  belief  that  my  friend,  Mr.  Froude, 
of  old  times,  was  coming  here,  but  not  to  be  myself 
made  in  any  manner  the  subject  of  extravagant  eu 
logy,  in  the  poetic  or  satirical  spirit  of  the  President. 
To  that  I  have  nothing  to  reply,  excepting  that  I 
know  nothing  of  it.  It  gives  me  great  pleasure,  cer 
tainly,  to  be  present  at  this  very  highly  proper  recep 
tion  of  our  guest.  I  had  the  great  pleasure  many, 
many  years  ago  —  it  was  twenty- four  years  ago  — 
of  meeting  him  when  he  was  new  from  his  Exeter 
college,  and  amid  very  valued  friends,  Mr.  Clough 
of  Oriel,  honored  in  all  parts  of  this  country  where 
intelligent  young  scholars  are  known ;  Mr.  Arnold  of 
this  same  college,  also  of  Oriel,  whose  fame  is  also 
in  all  our  mouths ;  Mr.  Stanley  of  Exeter ;  Mr.  Pal- 
grave,  and  other  able  young  men  with  whom  I  be 
came  most  happily  acquainted  on  my  visit  at  Oxford. 
And  I  rejoice  very  much  to  see  Mr.  Froude's  face 
here,  with  all  our  added  acquaintance  with  him  in  his 
books.  His  history  is  well-known,  I  know,  to  all  good 
readers  in  this  country,  and  he  has  established  the 
importance  of  his  own  opinion,  of  his  own  judgment, 
in  these  books.  I  think  he  has  taught  us  much.  He 
has  shown  at  least  two  eminent  faculties  in  his  his 
tories  —  the  faculty  of  seeing  wholes,  and  the  faculty 
of  seeing  and  saying  particulars.  The  one  makes  his 
tory  valuable,  and  the  other  makes  it  readable  —  in 
teresting.  Both  these  qualities  his  writings  have  emi- 

18 


JAMES    ANTHONY    FROUDE        19 

nently  shown.  I  think  we  are  indebted  to  him  for  a 
power  which  is  eminent  in  them,  the  discretion  which 
is  given  us  —  the  speeches,  the  language  of  the  very 
persons  whom  his  history  records.  The  language,  the 
style  of  the  books,  draws  very  much  of  its  excellence 
from  that  habit,  that  practice,  of  giving  the  very  lan 
guage  of  the  times.  He  knows  well  that  the  old  Eng 
lish  people  and  Irish  people  of  whom  his  history  re 
cords  the  events,  did  not  write  or  speak  in  the  style 
of  The  Edinburgh  Review  or  The  North  American 
Review,  but  that  they  spoke  a  stern  and  dreadful  lan 
guage,  when  words  were  few  and  when  words  meant 
much.  So  that  the  language  is  like  the  cry  of  the 
soldier  when  the  battle  begins,  or  the  cry  of  the  fugi 
tive  when  the  battle  turns  against  him.  It  is  a  pithy 
and  wonderful  language.  If  you  remember,  it  is 
Shakespeare  that  says :  "  When  breath  is  scant,  it's 
very  seldom  spent  in  vain."  That  is  the  very  lan 
guage  of  the  poet.  And  that  is  the  language  which 
his  taste  and  judgment  has  had  the  skill  to  secure, 
giving  an  emphasis  and  power  to  his  history,  which 
is  not  familiar  to  English  and  Irish  history. 

It  gives  me  great  pleasure  to  see  Mr.  Froude,  an 
old  friend,  because  he  recalls  the  time  of  my  own  visit, 
twenty-four  years  ago.  It  was  at  Oxford,  when  I 
knew  his  contemporaries,  his  fellow-students  at  Exe 
ter  and  Oriel  —  Mr.  Arnold,  Mr.  Stanley,  Mr. 
Clough  —  alas,  he  died  too  early  for  us  all  —  Mr. 
Palgrave,  and  many  other  young  men,  then  of  great 
promise,  and  some  of  them  who  have  more  than  ful 
filled  that  promise.  It  gives  me  great  pleasure  to  re 
member  that  time,  and  to  see  that,  if  something  has 
fallen,  much  has  survived,  and  that  we  have  here  one 
of  the  best  representatives  of  just  that  culture  and 
just  that  power  and  moral  determination  which  was 
exhibited  and  felt  by  all  those  young  men. 


SPEECH   AT   THE   BRYANT   FESTIVAL 
AT   "THE    CENTURY,"    NOVEMBER   5, 

1864 

MR.  PRESIDENT:  —  Whilst  I  am  grateful  to  you 
and  to  "  The  Century  "  for  the  privilege  of  joining 
you  in  this  graceful  and  most  deserved  homage  to  our 
poet,  I  am  a  little  disconcerted,  in  the  absence  of  some 
expected  friends  from  the  Bay  State,  at  finding  my 
self  put  forward  to  speak  on  their  part.  Let  me  say 
for  them  that  we  have  a  property  in  his  genius  and 
virtue.  Whilst  we  delight  in  your  love  of  him,  and 
in  his  power  and  reputation  in  your  imperial  State, 
we  can  never  forget  that  he  was  born  on  the  soil  of 
Massachusetts.  Your  great  metropolis  is  always,  by 
some  immense  attraction  of  gravity,  drawing  to  itself 
our  best  men.  But  we  forgive  you  in  this  case  the 
robbery,  when  we  see  how  nobly  you  have  used  him. 
Moreover,  the  joint  possession  by  New  York  and 
Massachusetts  of  him,  and  of  others  in  this  great  cir 
cle  of  his  friends,  is  one  of  those  ethereal  hoops  which 
bind  these  states  inseparably  in  these  perilous  times. 

I  join  with  all  my  heart  in  your  wish  to  honor  this 
native,  sincere,  original,  patriotic  poet.  I  say  orig 
inal:  I  heard  him  charged  with  being  of  a  certain 
school.  I  heard  it  with  surprise,  and  asked,  what 
school?  for  he  reminded  me  of  Goldsmith,  or  Words 
worth,  or  Byron,  or  Moore.  I  found  him  always 
original,  a  true  painter  of  the  face  of  this  country, 
and  of  the  sentiment  of  his  own  people.  When  I 
read  the  verses  of  popular  American  and  English 
poets,  I  often  think  that  they  appear  to  have  gone 
into  the  Art  Galleries  and  to  have  seen  pictures  of 
mountains,  but  this  man  to  have  seen  mountains. 

20 


THE    BRYANT   FESTIVAL  21 

With  his  stout  staff  he  has  climbed  Greylock  and  the 
White  Hills,  and  sung  what  he  saw.  He  renders 
Berkshire  to  me  in  verse,  with  the  sober  coloring,  too, 
to  which  nature  cleaves,  only  now  and  then  permit 
ting  herself  the  scarlet  and  gold  of  the  prism.  It  is 
his  proper  praise,  that  he  first  and  he  only  made 
known  to  mankind  our  northern  landscape  —  its 
summer  splendor,  its  autumn  russet,  its  winter  lights 
and  glooms.  And  he  is  original  because  he  is  sincere. 
Many  young  men  write  verse  which  strikes  by  talent, 
but  the  writer  has  not  committed  himself,  the  man  is 
not  there,  it  is  written  at  arm's  length,  he  could  as  well 
have  written  on  any  other  theme :  it  was  not  necessi 
tated  and  autobiographic,  and  therefore  it  does  not 
imprint  itself  on  the  memory,  and  return  for  thought 
and  consolation  in  our  solitary  hours.  But  our 
friend's  inspiration  is  from  the  inmost  mind ;  he  has 
not  a  labial  but  a  chest  voice,  and  you  shall  detect 
the  tastes  and  experiences  of  the  poem  in  his  daily 
life. 

Like  other  poets  —  more  than  other  poets  —  with 
his  expanding  genius  his  ambition  grew.  Fountain- 
heads,  and  pathless  groves  did  not  content  him.  It 
is  a  national  sin.  There  is,  you  know,  an  optical  dis 
temper  endemic  in  the  city  of  Washington,  contracted 
by  Senators  and  others  who  once  look  at  the  Presi 
dent's  chair;  their  eyes  grow  to  it;  they  can  never 
again  take  their  eyes  off  it.  The  virus  once  in,  is  not 
to  be  got  out  of  the  system.  Our  friend  has  not  this 
malady,  but  has  symptoms  of  another, 

"  That  last  infirmity  of  noble  minds." 

Ah,  gentlemen!  so  cold  and  majestic  as  he  sits  here, 
I  hear  this  sin  burned  at  his  heart  —  well  hid,  I  own ; 
never  was  a  man  more  modest,  less  boastful,  less  ego 
tistical.  But  you  remember  that  wicked  Phidias,  who, 


22  THE    BRYANT    FESTIVAL 

after  making  his  divine  Minerva,  carved  his  own  im 
age  with  such  deep  incision  into  the  shield,  that  it 
could  not  be  effaced  without  destroying  the  statue. 
But  this  artist  of  ours,  with  deeper  cunning,  has  con 
trived  to  levy  on  all  American  nature,  has  subsidized 
every  solitary  grove  and  monument-mountain  in 
Berkshire  or  the  Kat skills,  every  gleaming  water, 
the  "  gardens  of  the  Desert,"  every  waterfowl  and 
woodbird,  the  evening  wind,  the  stormy  March,  the 
song  of  the  stars;  —  has  suborned  every  one  of  these 
to  speak  for  him,  so  that  there  is  no  feature  of  day 
or  night  in  the  country  which  does  not,  to  the  contem 
plative  mind,  recall  the  name  of  Bryant.  This  high 
handed  usurpation  of  whatever  is  sweet  or  sublime, 
I  charge  him  with,  and,  on  the  top  of  this,  wdth  the 
sorcery  of  making  us  hug  our  fetters  and  rejoice  in 
our  subjugation. 

Then,  sir,  for  his  patriotism  —  we  all  know  the  deep 
debt  which  the  country  owes  to  the  accomplished 
journalist,  who,  the  better  to  carry  the  ends  which 
his  heart  desired,  left  the  studies  and  retirements  dear 
to  his  muse,  adapted  his  voice  to  the  masses  to  be 
reached,  and  the  great  cause  to  be  sustained  —  was 
content  to  drop  "  the  garland  and  singing-robes  of 
the  poet,"  and,  masking  his  Tyrtaean  elegies  in  the 
plain  speech  of  the  street,  sounded  the  key-note  of 
policy  and  duty  to  the  American  people,  in  a  manner 
and  with  an  effect  of  the  highest  service  to  the  Re 
public. 

Before  I  sit  down,  let  me  apply  to  him  a  verse  ad 
dressed  by  Thomas  Moore  to  the  poet  Crabbe,  and 
Moore  has  written  few  better: 

"  True  bard,  and  simple  as  the  race 
Of  heaven-born  poets  always  are, 
When  stooping  from  their  starry  place, 
They're  children,  but   gods   afar." 


ARTHUR   HUGH   CLOUGH 

REVIEW   OF   THE   BOTHtE   OF   TOPER  -  NA  -  FUOSICH,    A 
LONG  -  VACATION   PASTORAL,   BY   ARTHUR   CLOUGH 

HERE  is  a  new  English  poem  which  we  heartily 
recommend  to  all  classes  of  readers.  It  is  an  account 
of  one  of  those  Oxford  reading-parties  which,  at  the 
beginning  of  a  long  vacation,  are  made  up  by  a  tutor 
with  five  or  six  undergraduates,  who  wish  to  bring  up 
arrears  of  study,  or  to  warn  for  examination  and  hon 
ors,  and  who  betake  themselves  with  their  guide  to 
some  romantic  spot  in  Wales  or  Scotland,  where  are 
good  bathing  and  shooting,  read  six  hours  a  day,  and 
kill  the  other  eighteen  in  sport,  smoking,  and  sleep. 
The  poem  is  as  jocund  and  buoyant  as  the  party, 
and  so  joyful  a  picture  of  college  life  and  manners, 
with  such  good  strokes  of  revenge  on  the  old  torment 
ors,  Pindar,  Thucydides,  Aristotle,  and  the  logical 
Aldrich,  that  one  wonders  that  this  ground  has  not 
been  broken  up  before.  Six  young  men  have  read 
three  weeks  with  their  tutor,  and  after  joining  in  a 
country  dinner  and  a  dance  in  a  barn,  four  of  them 
decide  to  give  up  books  for  three  weeks,  and  make  a 
tour  of  the  Highlands,  leaving  the  other  two  partners 
with  the  tutor  in  the  cottage,  to  their  matutive,  or 
morning  bath,  six  hours'  reading,  and  mutton  at 
seven.  The  portraits  of  the  young  party  are  briefly 
but  masterly  sketched.  Adam  the  tutor,  Lindsay  the 
dialectician,  Hope,  Hobbes,  Airlie,  Arthur,  who, 
from  his  thirty  feet  diving,  is  the  "  glory  of  headers," 
and  Hewson.  Philip  Hewson,  the  hero  of  the  poem, 

23 


24  ARTHUR   HUGH    CLOUGH 

the  radical  poet,  in  this  excursion  falls  in  love  with  the 
golden-haired  Katie  at  the  farm  of  Rannoch,  and  is 
left  behind  by  his  returning  fellows.  The  poet  fol 
lows  his  hero  into  the  mountains,  wherever  the  rest 
less  Philip  wanders,  brooding  on  his  passion. 

Whilst  the  tutor  anxiously,  and  his  companions 
more  joyously,  are  speculating  on  this  dubious  ad 
venture  of  their  comrade,  a  letter  arrives  at  the  cot 
tage  from  Hope,  who  travelled  with  Philip,  announ 
cing  that  Philip  and  Katie  have  parted,  and  that 
Philip  is  staying  at  Castle  Balloch,  in  assiduous  at 
tendance  on  the  beautiful  "  Lady  Maria."  In  an 
earnest  letter  to  his  friend  the  tutor,  Philip  explains 
himself;  and  the  free-winged  sweep  of  speculation 
to  which  his  new  life  at  the  Castle  gives  occasion,  is  in 
a  truly  modern  spirit,  and  sufficiently  embarrassing, 
one  can  see,  to  the  friendliest  of  tutors.  Great  is  the 
mirth  of  the  Oxford  party  at  this  new  phase  of  the 
ardent  Philip,  but  it  is  suddenly  checked  again  by 
a  new  letter  from  Philip  to  Adam,  entreating  him  to 
come  immediately  to  the  bothie  or  hut  of  Toper-na- 
Fuosich,  to  bring  him  counsel  and  sanction,  since  he 

has  already  found  rest  and  home  in  the  heart  of 

Elspie! 

We  are  now  introduced  to  Elspie,  the  right  Ante- 
ros,  hitherto  pursued  in  vain  under  deceiving  masks, 
and  are  made  with  Adam  the  tutor  to  acquiesce  in 
Philip's  final  choice.  The  story  leads  naturally  into 
a  bold  hypothetical  discussion  of  the  most  serious 
questions  that  bubble  up  at  this  very  hour  in  London, 
Paris,  and  Boston,  and,  whilst  these  are  met  and  hon 
estly  and  even  profoundly  treated,  the  dialogue 
charms  us  by  perfect  good  breeding  and  exuberant 
animal  spirits.  We  shall  not  say  that  the  rapid  and 
bold  execution  has  the  finish  and  the  intimate  music 
we  demand  in  modern  poetry;  but  the  subject-matter 


ARTHUR    HUGH    CLOUGH  25 

is  so  solid,  and  the  figures  so  real  and  lifelike,  that  the 
poem  is  justified,  and  would  be  good  in  spite  of  much 
ruder  execution  than  we  here  find.  Yet  the  poem 
has  great  literary  merits.  The  author  has  a  true  eye 
for  nature,  and  expresses  himself  through  the  justest 
images.  The  Homeric  iteration  has  a  singular  charm, 
half -comic,  half -poetic,  in  the  piece,  and  there  is  a 
wealth  of  expression,  a  power  of  description  and  of 
portrait-painting,  which  excels  our  best  romancers. 
Even  the  hexameter,  which  with  all  our  envy  of  its 
beauty  in  Latin  and  in  Greek,  we  think  not  agreeable 
to  the  genius  of  English  poetry,  is  here  in  place  to 
heighten  the  humor  of  college  conversation. 


CARLYLE'S  FRENCH  REVOLUTION 

A  REVIEW  IN  THE  CHRISTIAN  EXAMINER, 
JANUARY,    1838 

WE  welcome  the  appearance  in  this  country  of  this 
extraordinary  work.  It  is  by  far  the  largest,  the  most 
elaborate,  and  the  best  work  which  Mr.  Carlyle  has 
yet  attempted,  and  although  an  accurate  and  ex 
tended  history,  not  a  whit  less  original  and  eccentric 
than  any  of  his  earlier  productions.  One  thing  has 
for  some  time  been  becoming  plainer,  and  is  now  quite 
undeniable,  that  Mr.  Carlyle's  genius,  whether  benig 
nant  or  baleful,  is  no  transient  meteor,  and  no  expir 
ing  taper,  but  a  robust  flame  self-kindled  and  self- 
fed,  and  more  likely  to  light  others  into  a  conflagra 
tion,  than  to  be  speedily  blown  out.  The  work  before 
us  indicates  an  extent  of  resources,  a  power  of  labor, 
and  powers  of  thought,  seldom  combined,  and  never 
without  permanent  effects. 

It  is  a  part  of  Mr.  Carlyle's  literary  creed,  "  that 
all  history  is  poetry,  were  it  rightly  told."  The  work 
before  us  is  his  own  exemplification  of  his  doctrine. 
The  poetry  consists  in  the  historian's  point  of  view. 
With  the  most  accurate  and  lively  delineation  of  the 
crowded  actions  of  the  revolution,  there  is  the  con 
stant  co-perception  of  the  universal  relations  of  each 
man.  With  a  painter's  eye  for  picturesque  groups, 
and  a  boy's  passion  for  exciting  details,  he  combines  a 
philosopher's  habitual  wonder  as  he  stands  before  the 
insoluble  mysteries  of  the  Advent  and  Death  of  man. 

26 


THE    FRENCH    REVOLUTION        27 

From  this  point  of  view,  he  is  unable  to  part,  and  the 
noble  and  hopeful  heart  of  the  narrator  breathes  a 
music  of  humanity  through  every  part  of  the  tale. 
Always  equal  to  his  subject,  he  has  first  thought  it 
through;  and  having  seen  in  the  sequence  of  events 
the  illustration  of  high  and  beautiful  laws  which  exist 
eternal  in  the  reason  of  man,  he  beholds  calmly  like 
a  god  the  fury  of  the  action,  secure  in  his  own  percep 
tion  of  the  general  harmony  resulting  from  particu 
lar  horror  or  pain.  This  elevation  of  the  historian's 
point  of  view  is  not,  however,  produced  at  any  ex 
pense  of  attention  to  details.  Here  is  a  chronicle  as 
minute  as  Froissart,  and  a  scrupulous  weighing  of 
historical  evidence,  which  begets  implicit  trust. 
Above  all,  we  have  men  in  the  story,  and  not  names 
merely.  The  characters  are  so  sharply  drawn  that 
they  cannot  be  confounded  or  forgotten,  though  we 
may  sometimes  doubt  whether  the  thrilling  imper 
sonation  is  in  very  deed  the  historic  man  whose  name 
it  bears. 

We  confess  we  feel  much  curiosity  in  regard  to  the 
immediate  success  of  this  bold  and  original  experi 
ment  upon  the  public  taste.  It  seems  very  certain 
that  the  chasm  which  existed  in  English  literature, 
the  want  of  a  just  history  of  the  French  Revolution, 
is  now  filled  in  a  manner  to  prevent  all  competition. 
But  how  far  Mr.  Carlyle's  manifold  innovations  shall 
be  reckoned  worthy  of  adoption  and  of  emulation,  or 
what  portion  of  them  shall  remain  to  himself  incom 
municable,  as  the  anomalies  of  a  genius  too  self-indul 
gent,  time  alone  can  show. 


PAPERS   FROM   THE   DIAL 


PAPERS  FROM  THE  DIAL 


THE    EDITORS    TO    THE    READER 

INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  FIRST  ISSUE  OF  THE  DIAL,  JULY, 

1840 

WE  invite  the  attention  of  our  countrymen  to  a 
new  design.  Probably  not  quite  unexpected  or  un 
announced  will  our  Journal  appear,  though  small 
pains  have  been  taken  to  secure  its  welcome.  Those, 
who  have  immediately  acted  in  editing  the  present 
Number,  cannot  accuse  themselves  of  any  unbecom 
ing  forwardness  in  their  undertaking,  but  rather  of 
a  backwardness,  when  they  remember  how  often  in 
many  private  circles  the  work  was  projected,  how 
eagerly  desired,  and  only  postponed  because  no  indi 
vidual  volunteered  to  combine  and  concentrate  the 
free-will  offerings  of  many  cooperators.  With  some 
reluctance  the  present  conductors  of  this  work  have 
yielded  themselves  to  the  wishes  of  their  friends,  find 
ing  something  sacred  and  not  to  be  withstood  in  the 
importunity  which  urged  the  production  of  a  Journal 
in  a  new  spirit. 

As  they  have  not  proposed  themselves  to  the  work, 
neither  can  they  lay  any  the  least  claim  to  an  option 
or  determination  of  the  spirit  in  which  it  is  conceived, 
or  to  what  is  peculiar  in  the  design.  In  that  respect, 
they  have  obeyed,  though  with  great  joy,  the  strong 
current  of  thought  and  feeling,  which,  for  a  few  years 

31 


32    THE  EDITORS  TO  THE  READER 

past,  has  led  many  sincere  persons  in  New  England 
to  make  new  demands  on  literature,  and  to  reprobate 
that  rigor  of  our  conventions  of  religion  and  educa 
tion  which  is  turning  us  to  stone,  which  renounces 
hope,  which  looks  only  backward,  which  asks  only 
such  a  future  as  the  past,  which  suspects  improve 
ment,  and  holds  nothing  so  much  in  horror  as  new 
views  and  the  dreams  of  youth. 

With  these  terrors  the  conductors  of  the  present 
Journal  have  nothing  to  do,  —  not  even  so  much  as 
a  word  of  reproach  to  waste.  They  know  that  there 
is  a  portion  of  the  youth  and  of  the  adult  population 
of  this  country,  who  have  not  shared  them ;  who  have 
in  secret  or  in  public  paid  their  vows  to  truth  and  free 
dom;  who  love  reality  too  well  to  care  for  names, 
and  who  live  by  a  Faith  too  earnest  and  profound 
to  suffer  them  to  doubt  the  eternity  of  its  object,  or 
to  shake  themselves  free  from  its  authority.  Under 
the  fictions  and  customs  which  occupied  others,  these 
have  explored  the  Necessary,  the  Plain,  the  True,  the 
Human,  —  and  so  gained  a  vantage  ground,  which 
commands  the  history  of  the  past  and  the  present. 

No  one  can  converse  much  with  different  classes 
of  society  in  New  England,  without  remarking  the 
progress  of  a  revolution.  Those  who  share  in  it  have 
no  external  organization,  no  badge,  no  creed,  no 
name.  They  do  not  vote,  or  print,  or  even  meet  to 
gether.  They  do  not  know  each  other's  faces  or 
names.  They  are  united  only  in  a  common  love  of 
truth,  and  love  of  its  work.  They  are  of  all  condi 
tions  and  constitutions.  Of  these  acolytes,  if  some 
are  happily  born  and  well  bred,  many  are  no  doubt  ill 
dressed,  ill  placed,  ill  made  —  with  as  many  scars  of 
hereditary  vice  as  other  men.  Without  pomp,  with 
out  trumpet,  in  lonely  and  obscure  places,  in  solitude, 
in  servitude,  in  compunctions  and  privations,  trudg- 


THE  EDITORS  TO  THE  READER    33 

ing  beside  the  team  in  the  dusty  road,  or  drudging  a 
hireling  in  other  men's  cornfields,  schoolmasters,  who 
teach  a  few  children  rudiments  for  a  pittance,  minis 
ters  of  small  parishes  of  the  obscurer  sects,  lone 
women  in  dependent  condition,  matrons  and  young 
maidens,  rich  and  poor,  beautiful  and  hard-favored, 
without  concert  or  proclamation  of  any  kind,  they 
have  silently  given  in  their  several  adherence  to  a  new 
hope,  and  in  all  companies  do  signify  a  greater  trust 
in  the  nature  and  resources  of  man,  than  the  laws 
or  the  popular  opinions  will  well  allow. 

This  spirit  of  the  time  is  felt  by  every  individual 
with  some  difference,  —  to  each  one  casting  its  light 
upon  the  objects  nearest  to  his  temper  and  habits  of 
thought;  —  to  one,  coming  in  the  shape  of  special 
reforms  in  the  state;  to  another,  in  modifications  of 
the  various  callings  of  men,  and  the  customs  of  busi 
ness;  to  a  third,  opening  a  new  scope  for  literature 
and  art;  to  a  fourth,  in  philosophical  insight;  to  a 
fifth,  in  the  vast  solitudes  of  prayer.  It  is  in  every 
form  a  protest  against  usage,  and  a  search  for  prin 
ciples.  In  all  its  movements,  it  is  peaceable,  and  in 
the  very  lowest  marked  with  a  triumphant  success. 
Of  course,  it  rouses  the  opposition  of  all  which  it 
judges  and  condemns,  but  it  is  too  confident  in  its 
tone  to  comprehend  an  objection,  and  so  builds  no 
outworks  for  possible  defence  against  contingent 
enemies.  It  has  the  step  of  Fate,  and  goes  on  exist 
ing  like  an  oak  or  a  river,  because  it  must. 

In  literature,  this  influence  appears  not  yet  in  new 
books  so  much  as  in  the  higher  tone  of  criticism.  The 
antidote  to  all  narrowness  is  the  comparison  of  the 
record  with  nature,  which  at  once  shames  the  record 
and  stimulates  to  new  attempts.  Whilst  we  look  at 
this,  we  wonder  how  any  book  has  been  thought 
worthy  to  be  preserved.  There  is  somewhat  in  all 


34     THE  EDITORS  TO  THE  READER 

life  untranslatable  into  language.  He  who  keeps  his 
eye  on  that  will  write  better  than  others,  and  think 
less  of  his  writing,  and  of  all  writing.  Every  thought 
has  a  certain  imprisoning  as  well  as  uplifting' quality, 
and,  in  proportion  to  its  energy  on  the  will,  refuses 
to  become  an  object  of  intellectual  contemplation. 
Thus  what  is  great  usually  slips  through  our  fingers, 
and  it  seems  wonderful  how  a  lifelike  word  ever 
comes  to  be  written.  If  our  Journal  share  the  im 
pulses  of  the  time,  it  cannot  now  prescribe  its  own 
course.  It  cannot  foretell  in  orderly  propositions 
what  it  shall  attempt.  All  criticism  should  be  poetic; 
unpredictable;  superseding,  as  every  new  thought 
does,  all  foregone  thoughts,  and  making  a  new  light 
on  the  whole  world.  Its  brow  is  not  wrinkled  with 
circumspection,  but  serene,  cheerful,  adoring.  It  has 
all  things  to  say,  and  no  less  than  all  the  world  for 
its  final  audience. 

Our  plan  embraces  much  more  than  criticism;  were 
it  not  so,  our  criticism  would  be  naught.  Everything 
noble  is  directed  on  life,  and  this  is.  We  do  not  wish 
to  say  pretty  or  curious  things,  or  to  reiterate  a  few 
propositions  in  varied  forms,  but,  if  we  can,  to  give 
expression  to  that  spirit  which  lifts  men  to  a  higher 
platform,  restores  to  them  the  religious  sentiment, 
brings  them  worthy  aims  and  pure  pleasures,  purges 
the  inward  eye,  makes  life  less  desultory,  and,  through 
raising  man  to  the  level  of  nature,  takes  away  its 
melancholy  from  the  landscape,  and  reconciles  the 
practical  with  the  speculative  powers. 

But  perhaps  we  are  telling  our  little  story  too 
gravely.  There  are  always  great  arguments  at  hand 
for  a  true  action,  even  for  the  writing  of  a  few  pages. 
There  is  nothing  but  seems  near  it  and  prompts  it,  — 
the  sphere  in  the  ecliptic,  the  sap  in  the  apple  tree,  — 
every  fact,  every  appearance  seem  to  persuade  to  it. 


THE  EDITORS  TO  THE  READER    35 

Our  means  correspond  with  the  ends  we  have  indi 
cated.  As  we  wish  not  to  multiply  books,  but  to  re 
port  life,  our  resources  are  therefore  not  so  much  the 
pens  of  practised  writers,  as  the  discourse  of  the  liv 
ing,  and  the  portfolios  which  friendship  has  opened 
to  us.  From  the  beautiful  recesses  of  private 
thought;  from  the  experience  and  hope  of  spirits 
which  are  withdrawing  from  all  old  forms,  and  seek 
ing  in  all  that  is  new  somewhat  to  meet  their  inappeas- 
able  longings;  from  the  secret  confession  of  genius 
afraid  to  trust  itself  to  aught  but  sympathy;  from  the 
conversation  of  fervid  and  mystical  pietists;  from 
tear-stained  diaries  of  sorrow  and  passion;  from  the 
manuscripts  of  young  poets;  and  from  the  records  of 
youthful  taste  commenting  on  old  works  of  art;  we 
hope  to  draw  thoughts  and  feelings,  which  being  alive 
can  impart  life. 

And  so  with  diligent  hands  and  good  intent  we  set 
down  our  Dial  on  the  earth.  We  wish  it  may  re 
semble  that  instrument  in  its  celebrated  happiness, 
that  of  measuring  no  hours  but  those  of  sunshine. 
Let  it  be  one  cheerful  rational  voice  amidst  the  din 
of  mourners  and  polemics.  Or  to  abide  by  our 
chosen  image,  let  it  be  such  a  Dial,  not  as  the  dead 
face  of  a  clock,  hardly  even  such  as  the  Gnomon  in  a 
garden,  but  rather  such  a  Dial  as  is  the  Garden  itself, 
in  whose  leaves  arid  flowers  and  fruits  the  suddenly 
awakened  sleeper  is  instantly  apprised  not  what  part 
of  dead  time,  but  what  state  of  life  and  growth  is 
now  arrived  and  arriving. 


THOUGHTS    ON   ART 

JANUARY,    1841 

EVERY  department  of  life  at  the  present  day,  — 
Trade,  Politics,  Letters,  Science,  Religion,  —  seem 
to  feel,  and  to  labor  to  express  the  identity  of  their 
law.  They  are  rays  of  one  sun;  they  translate  each 
into  a  new  language  the  sense  of  the  other.  They 
are  sublime  when  seen  as  emanations  of  a  Necessity 
contradistinguished  from  the  vulgar  Fate,  by  being 
instant  and  alive,  and  dissolving  man  as  well  as  his 
works,  in  its  flowing  beneficence.  This  influence  is 
conspicuously  visible  in  the  principles  and  history  of 
Art. 

On  one  side,  in  primary  communication  with  abso 
lute  truth,  through  thought  and  instinct,  the  human 
mind  tends  by  an  equal  necessity,  on  the  other  side, 
to  the  publication  and  embodiment  of  its  thought,  - 
modified  and  dwarfed  by  the  impurity  and  untruth 
which,  in  all  our  experience,  injures  the  wonderful 
medium  through  which  it  passes.  The  child  not  only 
suffers,  but  cries;  not  only  hungers,  but  eats.  The 
man  not  only  thinks,  but  speaks  and  acts.  Every 
thought  that  arises  in  the  mind,  in  its  rising,  aims  to 
pass  out  of  the  mind  into  act;  just  as  every  plant,  in 
the  moment  of  germination,  struggles  up  to  light. 
Thought  is  the  seed  of  action;  but  action  is  as  much 
its  second  form  as  thought  is  its  first.  It  rises  in 
thought  to  the  end,  that  it  may  be  uttered  and  acted. 
The  more  profound  the  thought,  the  more  burden 
some.  Always  in  proportion  to  the  depth  of  its  sense 

36 


THOUGHTS    ON   ART  37 

does  it  knock  importunately  at  the  gates  of  the  soul, 
to  be  spoken,  to  be  done.  What  is  in,  will  out.  It 
struggles  to  the  birth.  Speech  is  a  great  pleasure, 
and  action  a  great  pleasure;  they  cannot  be  forborne. 

The  utterance  of  thought  and  emotion  in  speech 
and  action  may  be  conscious  or  unconscious.  The 
sucking  child  is  an  unconscious  actor.  A  man  in  an 
ecstasy  of  fear  or  anger  is  an  unconscious  actor.  A 
large  part  of  our  habitual  actions  are  unconsciously 
done,  and  most  of  our  necessary  words  are  uncon 
sciously  said. 

The  conscious  utterance  of  thought,  by  speech  or 
action,  to  any  end,  is  Art.  From  the  first  imitative 
babble  of  a  child  to  the  despotism  of  eloquence;  from 
his  first  pile  of  toys  or  chip  bridge,  to  the  masonry 
of  Eddystone  lighthouse  or  the  Erie  canal;  from  the 
tattooing  of  the  Owhyhees  to  the  Vatican  Gallery; 
from  the  simplest  expedient  of  private  prudence  to 
the  American  Constitution;  from  its  first  to  its  last 
works,  Art  is  the  spirit's  voluntary  use  and  combina 
tion  of  things  to  serve  its  end.  The  Will  distin 
guishes  it  as  spiritual  action.  Relatively  to  them 
selves,  the  bee,  the  bird,  the  beaver,  have  no  art,  for 
what  they  do,  they  do  instinctively;  but  relatively  to 
the  Supreme  Being,  they  have.  And  the  same  is  true 
of  all  unconscious  action;  relatively  to  the  doer,  it  is 
instinct;  relatively  to  the  First  Cause,  it  is  Art.  In 
this  sense,  recognizing  the  Spirit  which  informs  Na 
ture,  Plato  rightly  said,  "  Those  things  which  are  said 
to  be  done  by  Nature,  are  indeed  done  by  Divine 
Art."  Art,  universally,  is  the  spirit  creative.  It  was 
defined  by  Aristotle,  "  The  reason  of  the  thing,  with 
out  the  matter,"  as  he  defined  the  art  of  ship-building 
to  be,  "  All  of  the  ship  but  the  wood." 

If  we  follow  the  popular  distinction  of  works  ac 
cording  to  their  aim,  we  should  say,  the  Spirit,  in  its 


38  THOUGHTS    ON   ART 

creation,  aims  at  use  or  at  beauty,  and  hence  Art 
divides  itself  into  the  Useful  and  the  Fine  Arts. 

The  useful  arts  comprehend  not  only  those  that  lie 
next  to  instinct,  as  agriculture,  building,  weaving, 
&c.,  but  also  navigation,  practical  chemistry,  and  the 
construction  of  all  the  grand  and  delicate  tools  and 
instruments  by  which  man  serves  himself;  as  lan 
guage;  the  watch;  the  ship;  the  decimal  cipher;  and 
also  the  sciences,  so  far  as  they  are  made  serviceable 
to  political  economy. 

The  moment  we  begin  to  reflect  on  the  pleasure  we 
receive  from  a  ship,  a  railroad,  a  dry  dock ;  or  from  a 
picture,  a  dramatic  representation,  a  statue,  a  poem, 
we  find  that  they  have  not  a  quite  simple,  but  a 
blended  origin.  We  find  that  the  question,  —  What 
is  Art?  leads  us  directly  to  another, -- Who  is  the 
artist?  and  the  solution  of  this  is  the  key  to  the  his 
tory  of  Art. 

I  hasten  to  state  the  principle  which  prescribes, 
through  different  means,  its  firm  law  to  the  useful 
and  the  beautiful  arts.  The  law  is  this.  The  univer 
sal  soul  is  the  alone  creator  of  the  useful  and  the  beau 
tiful  ;  therefore  to  make  anything  useful  or  beautiful, 
the  individual  must  be  submitted  to  the  universal 
mind. 

In  the  first  place,  let  us  consider  this  in  reference 
to  the  useful  arts.  Here  the  omnipotent  agent  is  Na 
ture;  all  human  acts  are  satellites  to  her  orb.  Nature 
is  the  representative  of  the  universal  mind,  and  the 
law  becomes  this,  —  that  Art  must  be  a  complement 
to  nature,  strictly  subsidiary.  It  was  said,  in  allusion 
to  the  great  structures  of  the  ancient  Romans,  the 
aqueducts  and  bridges,  —  that  their  "  Art  was  a  Na 
ture  working  to  municipal  ends."  That  is  a  true 
account  of  all  just  works  of  useful  art.  Smeaton 
built  Eddystone  lighthouse  on  the  model  of  an  oak 


THOUGHTS    ON    ART  39 

tree,  as  being  the  form  in  nature  best  designed  to 
resist  a  constant  assailing  force.  Dollond  formed  his 
achromatic  telescope  on  the  model  of  the  human  eye. 
Duhamel  built  a  bridge,  by  letting  in  a  piece  of 
stronger  timber  for  the  middle  of  the  under  surface, 
getting  his  hint  from  the  structure  of  the  shin-bone. 

The  first  and  last  lesson  of  the  useful  arts  is,  that 
nature  tyrannizes  over  our  works.  They  must  be 
conformed  to  her  law,  or  they  will  be  ground  to  pow 
der  by  her  omnipresent  activity.  Nothing  droll,  noth 
ing  whimsical  will  endure.  Nature  is  ever  interfer 
ing  with  Art.  You  cannot  build  your  house  or  pa 
goda  as  you  will,  but  as  you  must.  There  is  a  quick 
bound  set  to  our  caprice.  The  leaning  tower  can  only 
lean  so  far.  The  verandah  or  pagoda  roof  can  curve 
upward  only  to  a  certain  point.  The  slope  of  your 
roof  is  determined  by  the  weight  of  snow.  It  is  only 
\vithin  narrow  limits  that  the  discretion  of  the  archi 
tect  may  range.  Gravity,  wind,  sun,  rain,  the  size 
of  men  and  animals,  and  such  like,  have  more  to  say 
than  he.  It  is  the  law  of  fluids  that  prescribes  the 
shape  of  the  boat,  —  keel,  rudder,  and  bows,  —  and, 
in  the  finer  fluid  above,  the  form  and  tackle  of  the 
sails.  Man  seems  to  have  no  option  about  his  tools, 
but  merely  the  necessity  to  learn  from  Nature  what 
will  fit  best,  as  if  he  were  fitting  a  screw  or  a  door. 
Beneath  a  necessity  thus  almighty,  what  is  artificial 
in  man's  life  seems  insignificant.  He  seems  to  take 
his  task  so  minutely  from  intimations  of  Nature,  that 
his  works  become  as  it  were  hers,  and  he  is  no  longer 
free. 

But  if  we  work  within  this  limit,  she  yields  us  all 
her  strength.  All  powerful  action  is  performed,  by 
bringing  the  forces  of  nature  to  bear  upon  our  ob 
jects.  We  do  not  grind  corn  or  lift  the  loom  by  our 
own  strength,  but  we  build  a  mill  in  such  a  position 


40  THOUGHTS    ON   ART 

as  to  set  the  north  wind  to  play  upon  our  instrument, 
or  the  elastic  force  of  steam,  or  the  ebb  and  flow  of 
the  sea.  So  in  our  handiwork,  we  do  few  things  by 
muscular  force,  but  we  place  ourselves  in  such  atti 
tudes  as  to  bring  the  force  of  gravity,  that  is,  the 
weight  of  the  planet,  to  bear  upon  the  spade  or  the 
axe  we  wield.  What  is  it  that  gives  force  to  the  blow 
of  the  axe  or  crowbar?  Is  it  the  muscles  of  the  labor 
er's  arm,  or  is  it  the  attraction  of  the  whole  globe 
below  it,  on  the  axe  or  bar?  In  short,  in  all  our  opera 
tions  we  seek  not  to  use  our  own,  but  to  bring  a  quite 
infinite  force  to  bear. 

Let  us  now  consider  this  law  as  it  affects  the  works 
that  have  beauty  for  their  end,  that  is,  the  produc 
tions  of  the  Fine  Arts. 

Here  again  the  prominent  fact  is  subordination  of 
man.  His  art  is  the  least  part  of  his  work  of  art.  A 
great  deduction  is  to  be  made  before  we  can  know  his 
proper  contribution  to  it. 

Music,  eloquence,  poetry,  painting,  sculpture,  arch 
itecture.  This  is  a  rough  enumeration  of  the  Fine 
Arts.  I  omit  rhetoric,  which  only  respects  the  form 
of  eloquence  and  poetry.  Architecture  and  eloquence 
are  mixed  arts,  whose  end  is  sometimes  beauty  and 
sometimes  use. 

It  will  be  seen  that  in  each  of  these  arts  there  is 
much  which  is  not  spiritual.  Each  has  a  material 
basis,  and  in  each  the  creating  intellect  is  crippled 
in  some  degree  by  the  stuff  on  which  it  works.  The 
basis  of  poetry  is  language,  which  is  material  only  on 
one  side.  It  is  a  demi-god.  But  being  applied  pri 
marily  to  the  common  necessities  of  man,  it  is  not 
new  created  by  the  poet  for  his  own  ends. 

The  basis  of  music  is  the  qualities  of  the  air  and 
the  vibrations  of  sonorous  bodies.  The  pulsation  of 
a  stretched  string  or  wire,  gives  the  ear  the  pleasure 


THOUGHTS    ON   ART  41 

of  sweet  sound,  before  yet  the  musician  has  enhanced 
this  pleasure  by  concords  and  combinations. 

Eloquence,  as  far  as  it  is  a  fine  art,  is  modified  how 
much  by  the  material  organization  of  the  orator,  the 
tone  of  the  voice,  the  physical  strength,  the  play  of 
the  eye  and  countenance!  All  this  is  so  much  deduc 
tion  from  the  purely  spiritual  pleasure.  All  this  is 
so  much  deduction  from  the  merit  of  Art,  and  is  the 
attribute  of  Nature. 

In  painting,  bright  colors  stimulate  the  eye,  before 
yet  they  are  harmonized  into  a  landscape.  In  sculp 
ture  and  in  architecture,  the  material,  as  marble  or 
granite ;  and  in  architecture,  the  mass,  —  are  sources 
of  great  pleasure,  quite  independent  of  the  artificial 
arrangement.  The  art  resides  in  the  model,  in  the 
plan,  for  it  is  on  that  the  genius  of  the  artist  is  ex 
pended,  not  on  the  statue,  or  the  temple.  Just  as 
much  better  as  is  the  polished  statue  of  dazzling  mar 
ble  than  the  clay  model ;  or  as  much  more  impressive 
as  is  the  granite  cathedral  or  pyramid  than  the 
ground-plan  or  profile  of  them  on  paper,  so  much 
more  beauty  owe  they  to  Nature  than  to  Art. 

There  is  a  still  larger  deduction  to  be  made  from 
the  genius  of  the  artist  in  favor  of  Nature  than  I 
have  yet  specified. 

A  jumble  of  musical  sounds  on  a  viol  or  a  flute,  in 
which  the  rhythm  of  the  tune  is  played  without  one 
of  the  notes  being  right,  gives  pleasure  to  the  unskil 
ful  ear.  A  very  coarse  imitation  of  the  human  form 
on  canvas,  or  in  wax- work,  —  a  very  coarse  sketch 
in  colors  of  a  landscape,  in  which  imitation  is  all  that 
is  attempted,  —  these  things  give  to  unpractised  eyes, 
to  the  uncultured,  who  do  not  ask  a  fine  spiritual  de 
light,  almost  as  much  pleasure  as  a  statue  of  Canova 
or  a  picture  of  Titian. 

And  in  the  statue  of  Canova,  or  the  picture  of 


42  THOUGHTS    ON   ART 

Titian,  these  give  the  great  part  of  the  pleasure ;  they 
are  the  basis  on  which  the  fine  spirit  rears  a  higher 
delight,  but  to  which  these  are  indispensable. 

Another  deduction  from  the  genius  of  the  artist  is 
what  is  conventional  in  his  art,  of  which  there  is  much 
in  every  work  of  art.  Thus  how  much  is  there  that 
is  not  original  in  every  particular  building,  in  every 
statue,  in  every  tune,  in  every  painting,  in  every  poem, 
in  every  harangue.  Whatever  is  national  or  usual; 
as  the  usage  of  building  all  Roman  churches  in  the 
form  of  a  cross,  the  prescribed  distribution  of  parts  of 
a  theatre,  the  custom  of  draping  a  statue  in  classical 
costume.  Yet  who  will  deny  that  the  merely  conven 
tional  part  of  the  performance  contributes  much  to 
its  effect? 

One  consideration  more  exhausts,  I  believe,  all  the 
deductions  from  the  genius  of  the  artist  in  any  given 
work. 

This  is  the  adventitious.  Thus  the  pleasure  that  a 
noble  temple  gives  us,  is  only  in  part  owing  to  the 
temple.  It  is  exalted  by  the  beauty  of  sunlight,  by 
the  play  of  the  clouds,  by  the  landscape  around  it, 
by  its  grouping  with  the  houses,  and  trees,  and  tow 
ers,  in  its  vicinity.  The  pleasure  of  eloquence  is  in 
greatest  part  owing  often  to  the  stimulus  of  the  occa 
sion  which  produces  it;  to  the  magic  of  sympathy, 
which  exalts  the  feeling  of  each,  by  radiating  on  him 
the  feeling  of  all. 

The  effect  of  music  belongs  how  much  to  the  place, 
as  the  church,  or  the  moonlight  walk,  or  to  the  com 
pany,  or,  if  on  the  stage,  to  what  went  before  in 
the  play,  or  to  the  expectation  of  what  shall  come 
after. 

In  poetry,  "It  is  tradition  more  than  invention 
helps  the  poet  to  a  good  fable."  The  adventitious 
beauty  of  poetry  may  be  felt  in  the  greater  delight 


THOUGHTS    ON   ART  43 

which  a  verse  gives  in  happy  quotation  than  in  the 
poem. 

It  is  a  curious  proof  of  our  conviction  that  the  artist 
does  not  feel  himself  to  be  the  parent  of  his  work 
and  is  as  much  surprised  at  the  effect  as  we,  that  we 
are  so  unwilling  to  impute  our  best  sense  of  any  work, 
of  art  to  the  author.  The  very  highest  praise  we  can 
attribute  to  any  writer,  painter,  sculptor,  builder,  is, 
that  he  actually  possessed  the  thought  or  feeling  with 
which  he  has  inspired  us.  We  hesitate  at  doing  Spen 
ser  so  great  an  honor  as  to  think  that  he  intended  by 
his  allegory  the  sense  we  affix  to  it.  We  grudge  to 
Homer  the  wise  human  circumspection  his  commen 
tators  ascribe  to  him.  Even  Shakspeare,  of  whom  we 
can  believe  everything,  we  think  indebted  to  Goethe 
and  to  Coleridge  for  the  wisdom  they  detect  in  his 
Hamlet  and  Anthony.  Especially  have  we  this  in 
firmity  of  faith  in  contemporary  genius.  We  fear 
that  Allston  and  Greenough  did  not  foresee  and  de 
sign  all  the  effect  they  produce  on  us. 

Our  arts  are  happy  hits.  We  are  like  the  musician 
on  the  lake,  whose  melody  is  sweeter  than  he  knows, 
or  like  a  traveller,  surprised  by  a  mountain  echo, 
whose  trivial  word  returns  to  him  in  romantic  thun 
ders. 

In  view  of  these  facts,  I  say  that  the  power  of 
Nature  predominates  over  the  human  will  in  all 
works  of  even  the  fine  arts,  in  all  that  respects  their 
material  and  external  circumstances.  Nature  paints 
the  best  part  of  the  picture;  carves  the  best  part  of 
the  statue;  builds  the  best  part  of  the  house;  and 
speaks  the  best  part  of  the  oration.  For  all  the  ad 
vantages  to  which  I  have  adverted  are  such  as  the 
artist  did  not  consciously  produce.  He  relied  on  their 
aid,  he  put  himself  in  the  way  to  receive  aid  from 
some  of  them,  but  he  saw  that  his  planting  and  his 


44  THOUGHTS    ON   ART 

watering  waited  for  the  sunlight  of  Nature,  or  was 
yain. 

Let  us  proceed  to  the  consideration  of  the  great 
law  stated  in  the  beginning  of  this  essay,  as  it  affects 
the  purely  spiritual  part  of  a  work  of  art. 

As  in  useful  art,  so  far  as  it  is  useful,  the  work  must 
be  strictly  subordinated  to  the  laws  of  Nature,  so  as 
to  become  a  sort  of  continuation,  and  in  no  wise  a 
contradiction  of  Nature ;  so  in  art  that  aims  at  beauty 
as  an  end,  must  the  parts  be  subordinated  to  Ideal 
Nature,  and  everything  individual  abstracted,  so  that 
it  shall  be  the  production  of  the  universal  soul. 

The  artist,  who  is  to  produce  a  work  which  is  to  be 
admired  not  by  his  friends  or  his  townspeople,  or  hiss 
contemporaries,  but  by  all  men;  and  which  is  to  be 
more  beautiful  to  the  eye  in  proportion  to  its  culture, 
must  disindividualize  himself,  and  be  a  man  of  no 
party,  and  no  manner,  and  no  age,  but  one  through 
whom  the  soul  of  all  men  circulates,  as  the  common 
air  through  his  lungs.  He  must  work  in  the  spirit 
in  which  we  conceive  a  prophet  to  speak,  or  an  angel 
of  the  Lord  to  act,  that  is,  he  is  not  to  speak  his  own 
words,  or  do  his  own  works,  or  think  his  own  thoughts, 
but  he  is  to  be  an  organ  through  which  the  universal 
mind  acts. 

In  speaking  of  the  useful  arts,  I  pointed  to  the 
fact,  that  we  do  not  dig,  or  grind,  or  hew,  by  our 
muscular  strength,  but  by  bringing  the  weight  of 
the  planet  to  bear  on  the  spade,  axe,  or  bar.  Pre 
cisely  analogous  to  this,  in  the  fine  arts,  is  the  man 
ner  of  our  intellectual  work.  We  aim  to  hinder  our 
individuality  from  acting.  So  much  as  we  can  shove 
aside  our  egotism,  our  prejudice,  and  will,  and  bring 
the  omniscience  of  reason  upon  the  subject  before  us, 
so  perfect  is  the  work.  The  wonders  of  Shakspeare 
are  things  which  he  saw  whilst  he  stood  aside,  and  then 


THOUGHTS    ON   ART  45 

returned  to  record  them.  The  poet  aims  at  getting 
observations  without  aim;  to  subject  to  thought 
things  seen  without  (voluntary)  thought. 

In  eloquence,  the  great  triumphs  of  the  art  are, 
when  the  orator  is  lifted  above  himself;  when  con 
sciously  he  makes  himself  the  mere  tongue  of  the  oc 
casion  and  the  hour,  and  says  what  cannot  but  be  said. 
Hence  the  French  phrase  I' abandon,  to  describe  the 
self-surrender  of  the  orator.  Not  his  will,  but  the 
principle  on  which  he  is  horsed,  the  great  connection 
and  crisis  of  events  thunder  in  the  ear  of  the  crowd. 

In  poetry,  where  every  word  is  free,  every  word  is 
necessary.  Good  poetry  could  not  have  been  other 
wise  written  than  it  is.  The  first  time  you  hear  it,  it 
sounds  rather  as  if  copied  out  of  some  invisible  tablet 
in  the  Eternal  mind,  than  as  if  arbitrarily  composed 
by  the  poet.  The  feeling  of  all  great  poets  has  ac 
corded  with  this.  They  found  the  verse,  not  made  it. 
The  muse  brought  it  to  them. 

In  sculpture,  did  ever  anybody  call  the  Apollo  a 
fancy  piece?  Or  say  of  the  Laocoon  how  it  might 
be  made  different?  A  masterpiece  of  art  has  in  the 
mind  a  fixed  place  in  the  chain  of  being,  as  much  as  a 
plant  or  a  crystal. 

The  whole  language  of  men,  especially  of  artists, 
in  reference  to  this  subject,  points  at  the  belief,  that 
every  work  of  art,  in  proportion  to  its  excellence,  par 
takes  of  the  precision  of  fate;  no  room  was  there  for 
choice ;  no  play  for  fancy ;  for  the  moment,  or  in  the 
successive  moments,  when  that  form  was  seen,  the 
iron  lids  of  Reason  were  unclosed,  which  ordinarily 
are  heavy  with  slumber:  that  the  individual  mind 
became  for  the  moment  the  vent  of  the  mind  of  hu 
manity. 

There  is  but  one  Reason.  The  mind  that  made  the 
world  is  not  one  mind,  but  the  mind.  Every  man  is 


46  THOUGHTS    ON    ART 

an  inlet  to  the  same,  and  to  all  of  the  same.  And 
every  work  of  art  is  a  more  or  less  pure  manifestation 
of  the  same.  Therefore  we  arrive  at  this  conclusion, 
which  I  offer  as  a  confirmation  of  the  whole  view: 
That  the  delight,  which  a  work  of  art  affords,  seems 
to  arise  from  our  recognizing  in  it  the  mind  that 
formed  Nature  again  in  active  operation. 

It  differs  from  the  works  of  Nature  in  this,  that 
they  are  organically  reproductive.  This  is  not:  but 
spiritually  it  is  prolific  by  its  powerful  action  on  the 
intellects  of  men. 

In  confirmation  of  this  view,  let  me  refer  to  the 
fact,  that  a  study  of  admirable  works  of  art  always 
sharpens  the  perceptions  of  the  beauty  of  Nature; 
that  a  certain  analogy  reigns  throughout  the  wonders 
of  both;  that  the  contemplation  of  a  work  of  great 
art  draws  us  into  a  state  of  mind  which  may  be  called 
religious.  It  conspires  with  all  exalted  sentiments. 

Proceeding  from  absolute  mind,  whose  nature  is 
goodness  as  much  as  truth,  they  are  always  attuned 
to  moral  nature.  If  the  earth  and  sea  conspire  with 
virtue  more  than  vice,  —  so  do  the  masterpieces  of 
art.  The  galleries  of  ancient  sculpture  in  Naples 
and  Rome  strike  no  deeper  conviction  into  the  mind 
than  the  contrast  of  the  purity,  the  severity,  expressed 
in  these  fine  old  heads,  with  the  frivolity  and  gross- 
ness  of  the  mob  that  exhibits,  and  the  mob  that  gazes 
at  them.  These  are  the  countenances  of  the  first-born, 
the  face  of  man  in  the  morning  of  the  world.  No 
mark  is  on  these  lofty  features  of  sloth,  or  luxury,  or 
meanness,  and  they  surprise  you  with  a  moral  admoni 
tion,  as  they  speak  of  nothing  around  you,  but  re 
mind  you  of  the  fragrant  thoughts  and  the  purest  re 
solutions  of  your  youth. 

Herein  is  the  explanation  of  the  analogies  which 
exist  in  all  the  arts.  They  are  the  reappearance  of 


THOUGHTS    ON   ART  47 

one  mind,  working  in  many  materials  to  many  tem 
porary  ends.  Raphael  paints  wisdom ;  Handel  sings 
it,  Phidias  carves  it,  Shakspeare  writes  it,  Wren 
builds  it,  Columbus  sails  it,  Luther  preaches  it, 
Washington  arms  it,  Watt  mechanizes  it.  Painting 
was  called  "  silent  poetry;  "  and  poetry  "  speaking 
painting."  The  laws  of  each  art  are  convertible  into 
the  laws  of  every  other. 

Herein  we  have  an  explanation  of  the  necessity  that 
reigns  in  all  the  kingdom  of  art. 

Arising  out  of  eternal  reason,  one  and  perfect, 
whatever  is  beautiful  rests  on  the  foundation  of  the 
necessary.  Nothing  is  arbitrary,  nothing  is  insulated 
in  beauty.  It  depends  forever  on  the  necessary  and 
the  useful.  The  plumage  of  the  bird,  the  mimic  plu 
mage  of  the  insect,  has  a  reason  for  its  rich  colors  in 
the  constitution  of  the  animal.  Fitness  is  so  insepa 
rable  an  accompaniment  of  beauty,  that  it  has  been 
taken  for  it.  The  most  perfect  form  to  answer  an 
end,  is  so  far  beautiful.  In  the  mind  of  the  artist, 
could  we  enter  there,  we  should  see  the  sufficient  rea 
son  for  the  last  flourish  and  tendril  of  his  work,  just 
as  every  tint  and  spine  in  the  sea-shell  preexists  in 
the  secreting  organs  of  the  fish.  We  feel,  in  seeing 
a  noble  building,  which  rhymes  well,  as  we  do  in 
hearing  a  perfect  song,  that  it  is  spiritually  organic, 
that  is,  had  a  necessity  in  nature,  for  being,  was  one 
of  the  possible  forms  in  the  Divine  mind,  and  is  now 
only  discovered  and  executed  by  the  artist,  not  arbi 
trarily  composed  by  him. 

And  so  every  genuine  work  of  art  has  as  much 
reason  for  being  as  the  earth  and  the  sun.  The  gay 
est  charm  of  beauty  has  a  root  in  the  constitution  of 
things.  The  Iliad  of  Homer,  the  songs  of  David, 
the  odes  of  Pindar,  the  tragedies  of  ^Bschylus,  the 
Doric  temples,  the  Gothic  cathedrals,  the  plays  of 


48  THOUGHTS    ON   ART 

Shakspeare,  were  all  made  not  for  sport,  but  in  grave 
earnest,  in  tears,  and  smiles  of  suffering  and  loving 
men. 

Viewed  from  this  point,  the  history  of  Art  becomes 
intelligible,  and,  moreover,  one  of  the  most  agreeable 
studies  in  the  world.  We  see  how  each  work  of  art 
sprang  irresistibly  from  necessity,  and,  moreover, 
took  its  form  from  the  broad  hint  of  Nature.  Beau 
tiful  in  this  wise  is  the  obvious  origin  of  all  the  known 
orders  of  architecture,  namely,  that  they  were  the 
idealizing  of  the  primitive  abodes  of  each  people. 
Thus  the  Doric  temple  still  presents  the  semblance  of 
the  wooden  cabin,  in  which  the  Dorians  dwelt.  The 
Chinese  pagoda  is  plainly  a  Tartar  tent.  The  Indian 
arid  Egyptian  temples  still  betray  the  mounds  and 
subterranean  houses  of  their  forefathers.  The  Gothic 
church  plainly  originated  in  a  rude  adaptation  of  for 
est  trees,  with  their  boughs  on,  to  a  festal  or  solemn 
edifice,  as  the  bands  around  the  cleft  pillars  still  indi 
cate  the  green  withs  that  tied  them.  No  one  can 
walk  in  a  pine  barren,  in  one  of  the  paths  which  the 
woodcutters  make  for  their  teams,  without  being 
struck  with  the  architectural  appearance  of  the  grove, 
especially  in  winter,  when  the  bareness  of  all  other 
trees  shows  the  low  arch  of  the  Saxons.  In  the 
woods,  in  a  winter  afternoon,  one  will  see  as  readily 
the  origin  of  the  stained  glass  window  with  which  the 
Gothic  cathedrals  are  adorned,  in  the  colors  of  the 
western  sky,  seen  through  the  bare  and  crossing 
branches  of  the  forest.  Nor,  I  think,  can  any  lover  of 
nature  enter  the  old  piles  of  Oxford  and  the  English 
cathedrals,  without  feeling  that  the  forest  overpow 
ered  the  mind  of  the  builder,  with  its  ferns,  its  spikes 
of  flowers,  its  locust,  its  oak,  its  pine,  its  fir,  its 
spruce.  The  cathedral  is  a  blossoming  in  stone,  sub 
dued  by  the  insatiable  demand  of  harmony  in  man. 


THOUGHTS    ON   ART  49 

The  mountain  of  granite  blooms  into  an  eternal 
flower,  with  the  lightness  and  delicate  finish,  as  well 
as  aerial  proportions  and  perspective  of  vegetable 
beauty. 

There  was  no  wilfulness  in  the  savages  in  this  per 
petuating  of  their  first  rude  abodes.  The  first  form 
in  which  they  built  a  house  would  be  the  first  form  of 
their  public  and  religious  edifice  also.  This  form  be 
comes  immediately  sacred  in  the  eyes  of  their  children, 
and  the  more  so,  as  more  traditions  cluster  round  it, 
and  is,  therefore,  imitated  with  more  splendor  in  each 
succeeding  generation. 

In  like  manner,  it  has  been  remarked  by  Goethe, 
that  the  granite  breaks  into  parallelepipeds,  which, 
broken  in  two,  one  part  would  be  an  obelisk;  that  in 
Upper  Egypt  the  inhabitants  would  naturally  mark 
a  memorable  spot  by  setting  up  so  conspicuous  a 
stone.  Again,  he  suggested  we  may  see  in  any  stone 
wall,  on  a  fragment  of  rock,  the  projecting  veins  of 
harder  stone,  which  have  resisted  the  action  of  frost 
and  water,  which  has  decomposed  the  rest.  This  ap 
pearance  certainly  gave  the  hint  of  the  hieroglyphics 
inscribed  on  their  obelisk.  The  amphitheatre  of  the 
old  Romans,  —  any  one  may  see  its  origin,  who  looks 
at  the  crowd  running  together  to  see  any  fight,  sick 
ness,  or  odd  appearance  in  the  street.  The  first 
comers  gather  round  in  a  circle;  those  behind  stand 
on  tiptoe;  and  further  back  they  climb  on  fences  or 
window  sills,  and  so  make  a  cup  of  which  the  object 
of  attention  occupies  the  hollow  area.  The  architect 
put  benches  in  this  order,  and  enclosed  the  cup  with 
a  wall,  and  behold  a  coliseum. 

It  would  be  easy  to  show  of  very  many  fine  things 
in  the  world,  in  the  customs  of  nations,  the  etiquette 
of  courts,  the  constitution  of  governments,  the  origin 
in  very  simple  local  necessities.  Heraldry,  for  exam- 


50  THOUGHTS    ON   ART 

pie,  and  the  ceremonies  of  a  coronation,  are  a  splen 
did  burlesque  of  the  occurrences  that  might  befal  a 
dragoon  and  his  f ootboy.  The  College  of  Cardinals 
were  originally  the  parish  priests  of  Rome.  The 
leaning  towers  originated  from  the  civil  discords 
which  induced  every  lord  to  build  a  tower.  Then  it 
became  a  point  of  family  pride,  —  and  for  pride  a 
leaning  tower  was  built. 

This  strict  dependence  of  art  upon  material  and 
ideal  nature,  this  adamantine  necessity,  which  it  un 
derlies,  has  made  all  its  past,  and  may  foreshow  its 
future  history.  It  never  was  in  the  power  of  any 
man,  or  any  community,  to  call  the  arts  into  being. 
They  come  to  serve  his  actual  wants,  never  to  please 
his  fancy.  These  arts  have  their  origin  always  in 
some  enthusiasm,  as  love,  patriotism,  or  religion. 
Who  carved  marble?  The  believing  man,  who  wished 
to  symbolize  their  gods  to  the  waiting  Greeks. 

The  Gothic  cathedrals  were  built,  when  the  builder 
and  the  priest  and  the  people  were  overpowered  by 
their  faith.  Love  and  fear  laid  every  stone.  The 
Madonnas  of  Raphael  and  Titian  were  made  to  be 
worshipped.  Tragedy  was  instituted  for  the  like 
purpose,  and  the  miracles  of  music ;  —  all  sprang  out 
of  some  genuine  enthusiasm,  and  never  out  of  dilet 
tantism  and  holidays.  But  now  they  languish,  be 
cause  their  purpose  is  merely  exhibition.  Who  cares, 
who  knows  what  works  of  art  our  government  have 
ordered  to  be  made  for  the  capitol?  They  are  a  mere 
flourish  to  please  the  eye  of  persons  who  have  asso 
ciations  with  books  and  galleries.  But  in  Greece, 
the  Demos  of  Athens  divided  into  political  factions 
upon  the  merits  of  Phidias. 

In  this  country,  at  this  time,  other  interests  than 
religion  and  patriotism  are  predominant,  and  the 
arts,  the  daughters  of  enthusiasm,  do  not  flourish. 


THOUGHTS    ON   ART  51 

The  genuine  offspring  of  our  ruling  passions  we  be 
hold.  Popular  institutions,  the  school,  the  reading 
room,  the  post  office,  the  exchange,  the  insurance 
company,  and  an  immense  harvest  of  economical  in 
ventions,  are  the  fruit  of  the  equality  and  the  bound 
less  liberty  of  lucrative  callings.  These  are  super 
ficial  wants;  and  their  fruits  are  these  superficial  in 
stitutions.  But  as  far  as  they  accelerate  the  end  of 
political  freedom  and  national  education,  they  are 
preparing  the  soil  of  man  for  fairer  flowers  and  fruits 
in  another  age.  For  beauty,  truth,  and  goodness  are 
not  obsolete;  they  spring  eternal  in  the  breast  of 
man;  they  are  as  indigenous  in  Massachusetts  as  in 
Tuscany,  or  the  Isles  of  Greece.  And  that  Eternal 
Spirit,  whose  triple  face  they  are,  moulds  from  them 
forever,  for  his  mortal  child,  images  to  remind  him  of 
the  Infinite  and  Fair. 


THE    SENSES   AND    THE    SOUL 

JANUARY,    1842 

"WHAT  we  know  is  a  point  to  what  we  do  not 
know."  The  first  questions  are  still  to  be  asked.  Let 
any  man  bestow  a  thought  on  himself,  how  he  came 
hither,  and  whither  he  tends,  and  he  will  find  that  all 
the  literature,  all  the  philosophy  that  is  on  record, 
have  done  little  to  dull  the  edge  of  inquiry.  The 
globe  that  swims  so  silently  with  us  through  the  sea 
of  space,  has  never  a  port,  but  with  its  little  convoy 
of  friendly  orbs  pursues  its  voyage  through  the  signs 
of  heaven,  to  renew  its  navigation  again  forever. 
The  wonderful  tidings  our  glasses  and  calendars  give 
us  concerning  the  hospitable  lights  that  hang  around 
us  in  the  deep,  do  not  appease  but  inflame  our  curios 
ity;  and  in  like  manner,  our  culture  does  not  lead  to 
any  goal,  but  its  richest  results  of  thought  and  action 
are  only  new  preparation. 

Here  on  the  surface  of  our  swimming  earth  we 
come  out  of  silence  into  society  already  formed,  into 
language,  customs,  and  traditions,  ready  made,  and 
the  multitude  of  our  associates  discountenance  us 
from  expressing  any  surprise  at  the  somewhat  agree 
able  novelty  of  Being,  and  frown  down  any  intima 
tion  on  our  part  of  a  disposition  to  assume  our  own 
vows,  to  preserve  our  independence,  and  to  institute 
any  inquiry  into  the  sweet  and  sublime  vision  which 
surrounds  us. 

And  yet  there  seems  no  need  that  any  should  fear 
we  should  grow  too  wise.  The  path  of  truth  has  ob- 

52 


THE    SENSES    AND    THE    SOUL      53 

stacks  enough  of  its  own.  We  dwell  on  the  surface 
of  nature.  We  dwell  amidst  surfaces;  and  surface 
laps  so  closely  on  surface,  that  we  cannot  easily  pierce 
to  see  the  interior  organism.  Then  the  subtlety  of 
things!  Under  every  cause,  another  cause.  Truth 
soars  too  high  or  dives  too  deep  for  the  most  resolute 
inquirer.  See  of  how  much  we  know  nothing.  See 
the  strange  position  of  man.  Our  science  neither 
comprehends  him  as  a  whole,  nor  any  one  of  its  par 
ticulars.  See  the  action  and  reaction  of  Will  and 
Necessity.  See  his  passions,  and  their  origin  in  the 
deeps  of  nature  and  circumstance.  See  the  Fear  that 
rides  even  the  brave.  See  the  omnipresent  Hope, 
W7hose  fountains  in  our  consciousness  no  metaphysi 
cian  can  find.  Consider  the  phenomenon  of  Laugh 
ter,  and  explore  the  elements  of  the  Comic.  What 
do  we  know  of  the  mystery  of  Music?  and  what  of 
Form?  why  this  stroke,  this  outline  should  express 
beauty,  and  that  other  not?  See  the  occult  region  of 
Demonology,  with  coincidence,  foresight,  dreams, 
and  omens.  Consider  the  appearance  of  Death,  the 
formidable  secret  of  our  destiny,  looming  up  as  the 
barrier  of  nature. 

Our  ignorance  is  great  enough,  and  yet  the  fact 
most  surprising  is  not  our  ignorance,  but  the  aversa- 
tion  of  men  from  knowledge.  That  which,  one  would 
say,  would  unite  all  minds  and  join  all  hands,  the  am 
bition  to  push  as  far  as  fate  would  permit,  the  planted 
garden  of  man  on  every  hand  into  the  kingdom  of 
Xight,  really  fires  the  heart  of  few  and  solitary  men. 
Tell  men  to  study  themselves,  and  for  the  most  part, 
they  find  nothing  less  interesting.  Whilst  we  walk 
environed  before  and  behind  with  Will,  Fate,  Hope, 
Fear,  Love,  and  Death,  these  phantoms  or  angels, 
whom  we  catch  at  but  cannot  embrace,  it  is  droll  to 
see  the  contentment  and  incuriosity  of  man.  All 


54      THE    SENSES   AND    THE    SOUL 

take  for  granted,  —  the  learned  as  well  as  the  un 
learned,  —  that  a  great  deal,  nay,  almost  all,  is  known 
and  forever  settled.  But  in  truth  all  is  now  to  be 
begun,  and  every  new  mind  ought  to  take  the  at 
titude  of  Columbus,  launch  out  from  the  gaping 
loiterers  on  the  shore,  and  sail  west  for  a  new 
world. 

This  profound  ignorance,  this  deep  sleep  of  the 
higher  faculties  of  man,  coexists  with  a  great  abun 
dance  of  what  are  called  the  means  of  learning,  great 
activity  of  book-making,  and  of  formal  teaching. 
Go  into  one  of  our  public  libraries,  when  a  new  box 
of  books  and  journals  has  arrived  with  the  usual  im 
portation  of  the  periodical  literature  of  England. 
The  best  names  of  Britain  are  on  the  covers.  What 
a  mass  of  literary  production  for  a  single  week  or 
month!  We  speculate  upon  it  before  we  read.  We 
say,  what  an  invention  is  the  press  and  the  journal, 
by  which  a  hundred  pale  students,  each  a  hive  of  dis 
tilled  flowers  of  learning,  of  thought,  —  each  a  poet, 
—  each  an  accomplished  man  whom  the  selectest  in 
fluences  have  joined  to  breed  and  enrich,  are  made  to 
unite  their  manifold  streams  for  the  information  and 
delight  of  everybody  who  can  read!  How  lame  is 
speech,  how  imperfect  the  communication  of  the  an 
cient  Harper,  wandering  from  castle  to  hamlet,  to 
sing  to  a  vagrant  audience  his  melodious  thoughts! 
These  unopened  books  contain  the  chosen  verses  of  a 
hundred  minstrels,  born,  living,  and  singing  in  distant 
countries  and  different  languages;  for,  the  intellec 
tual  wealth  of  the  world,  like  its  commercial,  rolls  to 
London,  and  through  that  great  heart  is  hurled  again 
to  the  extremities.  And  here,  too,  is  the  result,  not 
poetic,  of  how  much  thought,  how  much  experience, 
and  how  much  suffering  of  wise  and  cultivated  men! 
How  can  we  in  America  expect  books  of  our  own, 


THE    SENSES    AND    THE    SOUL      55 

whilst  this  bale  of  wisdom  arrives  once  or  twice  in  a 
month  at  our  ports? 

In  this  mind  we  open  the  books,  and  begin  to  read. 
We  find  they  are  books  about  books;  and  then  per 
haps  the  book  criticized  was  itself  a  compilation  or 
digest  of  others ;  so  that  the  page  we  read  is  at  third 
or  fourth  hand  from  the  event  or  sentiment  which  it 
describes.  Then  we  find  that  much  the  largest  pro 
portion  of  the  pages  relates  exclusively  to  matter  of 
fact  —  to  the  superficial  fact,  and,  as  if  systemati 
cally,  shuns  any  reference  to  a  thought  or  law  which 
the  fact  indicated.  A  large  part  again,  both  of  the 
prose  and  verse,  is  gleanings  from  old  compositions, 
and  the  oft  repeated  praise  of  such  is  repeated  in  the 
phrase  of  the  present  day.  We  have  even  the  morti 
fication  to  find  one  more  deduction  still  from  our  an 
ticipated  prize,  namely,  that  a  large  portion  of  osten 
tatious  criticism  is  merely  a  hired  advertisement  of 
the  great  booksellers.  In  the  course  of  our  turning 
of  leaves,  we  fall  at  last  on  an  extraordinary  passage 
-  a  record  of  thought  and  virtue,  or  a  clarion  strain 
of  poetry,  or  perchance  a  traveller  makes  us  ac 
quainted  with  strange  modes  of  life  and  some  relic  of 
primeval  religion,  or,  rarer  yet,  a  profound  sentence 
is  here  printed  —  shines  here  new  but  eternal  on  these 
linen  pages,  —  we  wonder  whence  it  came,  —  or  per 
haps  trace  it  instantly  home  —  aut  Erasmus  aut  Dia- 
bolus  —  to  the  only  head  it  could  come  from. 

A  few  thoughts  are  all  we  glean  from  the  best  in 
spection  of  the  paper  pile ;  all  the  rest  is  combination 
and  confectionary.  A  little  part  abides  in  our  mem 
ory,  and  goes  to  exalt  the  sense  of  duty,  and  make  us 
happier.  For  the  rest,'  our  heated  expectation  is 
chilled  and  disappointed.  Some  indirect  benefit  will 
no  doubt  accrue.  If  we  read  with  braced  and  active 
mind,  we  learn  this  negative  fact,  itself  a  piece  of 


56      THE    SENSES   AND    THE    SOUL 

human  life.  We  contrast  this  mountain  of  dross  with 
the  grains  of  gold,  —  we  oversee  the  writer,  and  learn 
somewhat  of  the  laws  of  writing.  But  a  lesson  as 
good  we  might  be  learning  elsewhere. 

Now  what  is  true  of  a  month's  or  a  year's  issue  of 
new  books,  seems  to  me  with  a  little  qualification  true 
of  the  age.  The  stock-writers,  (for  the  honesty  of 
the  literary  class  has  given  this  population  a  name,) 
vastly  outnumber  the  thinking  men.  One  man,  two 
men,  —  possibly,  three  or  four,  —  have  cast  behind 
them  the  long-descended  costume  of  the  academy, 
and  the  expectations  of  fashion,  and  have  said,  This 
world  is  too  fair,  this  world  comes  home  too  near  to 
me  than  that  I  should  walk  a  stranger  in  it,  and  live 
at  second-hand,  fed  by  other  men's  doctrines,  or  tread 
ing  only  in  their  steps;  I  feel  a  higher  right  herein, 
and  will  hearken  to  the  Oracle  myself.  Such  have 
perceived  the  extreme  poverty  of  literature,  have 
seen  that  there  was  not  and  could  not  be  help  for  the 
fervent  soul,  except  through  its  own  energy.  But 
the  great  number  of  those  who  have  voluminously 
ministered  to  the  popular  tastes  were  men  of  talents, 
who  had  some  feat  which  each  could  do  with  words, 
but  who  have  not  added  to  wisdom  or  to  virtue.  Tal 
ent  amuses;  Wisdom  instructs.  Talent  shows  me 
what  another  man  can  do ;  Genius  acquaints  me  with 
the  spacious  circuits  of  the  common  nature.  One  is 
carpentry;  the  other  is  growth.  To  make  a  step  into 
the  world  of  thought  is  now  given  to  but  few  men; 
to  make  a  second  step  beyond  the  first,  only  one  in  a 
country  can  do ;  but  to  carry  the  thought  on  to  three 
steps,  marks  a  great  teacher.  Aladdin's  palace  with 
its  one  unfinished  window,  which  all  the  gems  in  the 
royal  treasury  cannot  finish  in  the  style  of  the  mean 
est  of  the  profusion  of  jewelled  windows  that  were 
built  by  the  Genie  in  a  night,  is  but  too  true  an  image 


THE    SENSES   AND    THE    SOUL      57 

of  the  efforts  of  talent  to  add  one  verse  to  the  copious 
text  which  inspiration  writes  by  one  or  another  scribe 
from  age  to  age. 

It  is  not  that  the  literary  class  or  those  for  whom 
they  write,  are  not  lovers  of  truth,  and  amenable  to 
principles.  All  are  so.  The  hunger  of  men  for  truth 
is  immense ;  but  they  are  not  erect  on  their  feet ;  the 
senses  are  too  strong  for  the  soul.  Our  senses  bar 
barize  us.  When  the  ideal  world  recedes  before  the 
senses,  we  are  on  a  retrograde  march.  The  savage 
surrenders  to  his  senses;  he  is  subject  to  paroxysms 
of  joy  and  fear;  he  is  lewd,  and  a  drunkard.  The 
Esquimaux  in  the  exhilaration  of  the  morning  sun, 
when  he  is  invigorated  by  sleep,  will  sell  his  bed.  He 
is  the  fool  of  the  moment's  sensations  to  the  degree 
of  losing  sight  of  the  whole  amount  of  his  sensations 
in  so  many  years.  And  there  is  an  Esquimaux  in 
every  man  which  makes  us  believe  in  the  permanence 
of  this  moment's  state  of  our  game  more  than  our 
own  experience  will  warrant.  In  the  fine  day  we 
despise  the  house.  At  sea,  the  passengers  always 
judge  from  the  weather  of  the  present  moment  of 
the  probable  length  of  the  voyage.  In  a  fresh 
breeze,  they  are  sure  of  a  good  run;  becalmed,  they 
are  equally  sure  of  a  long  passage.  In  trade,  the 
momentary  state  of  the  markets  betrays  continually 
the  experienced  and  long-sighted.  In  politics,  and 
in  our  opinion  of  the  prospects  of  society,  we  are  in 
like  manner  the  slaves  of  the  hour.  Meet  one  or  two 
malignant  declaimers,  and  we  are  weary  of  life,  and 
distrust  the  permanence  of  good  institutions.  A  sin 
gle  man  in  a  ragged  coat  at  an  election  looks  revolu 
tionary.  But  ride  in  a  stage-coach  with  one  or  two 
benevolent  persons  in  good  spirits,  and  the  Republic 
seems  to  us  safe. 

It  is  but  an  extension  of  the  despotism  of  sense,  — 


58      THE    SENSES   AND    THE    SOUL 

shall  I  say,  only  a  calculated  sensuality,  —  a  little 
more  comprehensive  devotion  which  subjugates  the 
eminent  and  the  reputed  wise,  and  hinders  an  ideal 
culture.  In  the  great  stakes  which  the  leaders  of 
society  esteem  not  at  all  fanciful  but  solid,  in  the  best 
reputed  professions  and  operations,  what  is  there 
which  will  bear  the  scrutiny  of  reason?  The  most 
active  lives  have  so  much  routine  as  to  preclude  prog 
ress  almost  equally  with  the  most  inactive.  We  defer 
to  the  noted  merchants  whose  influence  is  felt  not  only 
in  their  native  cities,  but  in  most  parts  of  the  globe; 
but  our  respect  does  them  and  ourselves  great  injus 
tice,  for  their  trade  is  without  system,  their  affairs 
unfold  themselves  after  no  law  of  the  mind;  but  are 
bubble  built  on  bubble  without  end ;  a  work  of  arith 
metic,  not  of  commerce,  much  less  of  considerate 
humanity.  They  add  voyage  to  voyage,  and  buy 
stocks  that  they  may  buy  stocks,  and  no  ulterior  pur 
pose  is  thought  of.  When  you  see  their  dexterity  in 
particulars,  you  cannot  overestimate  the  resources  of 
good  sense,  and  when  you  find  how  empty  they  are 
of  all  remote  aims,  you  cannot  underestimate  their 
philosophy. 

The  men  of  letters  and  the  professions  we  have 
charged  with  the  like  surrender  to  routine.  It  is  no 
otherwise  with  the  men  of  office.  Statesmen  are  soli 
tary.  At  no  time  do  they  form  a  class.  Govern 
ments,  for  the  most  part,  are  carried  on  by  political 
merchants  quite  without  principle,  and  according  to 
the  maxims  of  trade  and  huckster;  so  that  what  is 
true  of  merchants  is  true  of  public  officers.  Why 
should  we  suffer  ourselves  to  be  cheated  by  sounding 
names  and  fair  shows?  The  titles,  the  property,  the 
notoriety,  the  brief  consequence  of  our  fellows  are 
only  the  decoration  of  the  sacrifice,  and  add  to  the 
melancholy  of  the  observer. 


THE    SENSES   AND    THE    SOUL      59 

"  The  earth  goes  on  the  earth  glittering  with  gold, 
The  earth  goes  to  the  earth  sooner  than  it  should, 
The  earth  builds  on  the  earth  castles  and  towers, 
The  earth  says  to  the  earth,  all  this  is  ours." 

All  this  is  covered  up  by  the  speedy  succession  of  the 
particulars,  which  tread  so  close  on  each  other's  heel, 
as  to  allow  no  space  for  the  man  to  question  the  whole 
thing.  There  is  somewhat  terrific  in  this  mask  of 
routine.  Captain  Franklin,  after  six  weeks  travelling 
on  the  ice  to  the  North  Pole,  found  himself  two  hun 
dred  miles  south  of  the  spot  he  had  set  out  from.  The 
ice  had  floated;  and  we  sometimes  start  to  think  we 
are  spelling  out  the  same  sentences,  saying  the  same 
words,  repeating  the  same  acts  as  in  former  years. 
Our  ice  may  float  also. 

This  preponderance  of  the  senses  can  we  balance 
and  redress?  Can  we  give  permanence  to  the  light 
nings  of  thought  which  lick  up  in  a  moment  these 
combustible  mountains  of  sensation  and  custom,  and 
reveal  the  moral  order  after  which  the  world  is  to  be 
rebuilt  anew?  Grave  questions  truly,  but  such  as 
leave  us  no  option.  To  know  the  facts  is  already  a 
choosing  of  sides,  ranges  us  on  the  party  of  Light 
and  Reason,  sounds  the  signal  for  the  strife,  and 
prophesies  an  end  to  the  insanity  and  a  restoration  of 
the  balance  and  rectitude  of  man. 


TRANSCENDENTALISM 

JANUAHY,   1842 

THE  more  liberal  thought  of  intelligent  persons 
acquires  a  new  name  in  each  period  or  community; 
and  in  ours,  by  no  very  good  luck,  as  it  sometimes 
appears  to  us,  has  been  designated  as  Transcenden 
talism.  We  have  every  day  occasion  to  remark  its 
perfect  identity,  under  whatever  new  phraseology  or 
application  to  new  facts,  with  the  liberal  thought  of 
all  men  of  a  religious  and  contemplative  habit  in  other 
times  and  countries.  We  were  lately  so  much  struck 
with  two  independent  testimonies  to  this  fact,  pro 
ceeding  from  persons,  one  in  sympathy  with  the 
Quakers,  and  the  other  with  the  Calvinistic  Church, 
that  we  have  begged  the  privilege  to  transcribe  an 
extract  from  two  private  letters,  in  order  that  we 
might  bring  them  together. 

The  Calvinist  writes  to  his  Correspondent  after  this 
manner. 

"  All  the  peculiarities  of  the  theology,  denominated 
Trinitarian,  are  directly  or  indirectly  transcendental. 
The  sinfulness  of  man  involves  the  supposition  of  a 
nature  in  man,  which  transcends  all  limits  of  animal 
life  and  of  social  moralities.  The  reality  of  spirit,  in 
the  highest  sense  of  that  holy  word,  as  the  essence  of 
God  and  the  inward  ground  and  law  of  man's  being 
and  doing,  is  supposed  both  in  the  fact  of  sin,  and 
the  possibility  of  redemption  from  sin.  The  mystery 
of  the  Father  revealed  only  in  the  Son  as  the  Word 
of  Life,  the  Light  which  illumines  every  man,  out- 

60 


TRANSCENDENTALISM  61 

wardly  in  the  incarnation  and  offering  for  sin,  in 
wardly  as  the  Christ  in  us,  energetic  and  quickening 
in  the  inspirations  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  —  the  great 
mystery  wherein  we  find  redemption,  this,  like  the 
rest,  is  transcendental.  So  throughout,  as  might  be 
shown  by  the  same  induction  suggested  in  relation 
to  another  aspect  of  the  matter.  Now  here  is  my 
point.  Trinitarians,  whose  whole  system  from  begin 
ning  to  end  is  transcendental,  ideal,  —  an  idea  is  the 
highest  truth,  —  war  against  the  very  foundations  of 
whatever  is  transcendental,  ideal ;  all  must  be  empiric, 
sensuous,  inductive.  A  system,  which  used  to  create 
and  sustain  the  most  fervid  enthusiasm,  as  is  its  na 
ture,  for  it  makes  God  all  in  all,  leads  in  crusade 
against  all  even  the  purest  and  gentlest  enthusiasm. 
It  fights  for  the  letter  of  Orthodoxy,  for  usage,  for 
custom,  for  tradition,  against  the  Spirit  as  it  breathes 
like  healing  air  through  the  damps  and  unwholesome 
swamps,  or  like  strong  wind  throwing  down  rotten 
trees  and  rotten  frameworks  of  men.  It  builds  up 
with  one  hand  the  Temple  of  Truth  on  the  outside; 
and  with  the  other  works  as  in  frenzy  to  tear  up  its 
very  foundations.  So  has  it  seemed  to  me.  The 
transcendentalists  do  not  err  in  excess  but  in  defect, 
if  I  understand  the  case.  They  do  not  hold  wild 
dreams  for  realities;  the  vision  is  deeper,  broader, 
more  spiritual  than  they  have  seen.  They  do  not  be 
lieve  with  too  strong  faith;  their  faith  is  too  dim  of 
sight,  too  feeble  of  grasp,  too  wanting  in  certainty. 
I  regret  that  they  should  ever  seem  to  undervalue  the 
Scriptures.  For  those  scriptures  have  flowed  out  of 
the  same  spirit  which  is  in  every  pure  heart;  and  I 
would  have  the  one  spirit  recognize  and  respond  to 
itself  under  all  the  multiform  shapes  of  word,  of  deed, 
of  faith,  of  love,  of  thought,  of  affection,  in  which 
it  is  enrobed;  just  *as  that  spirit  in  us  recognizes  and 


62  TRANSCENDENTALISM 

responds  to  itself  now  in  the  gloom  of  winter,  now  in 
the  cheer  of  summer,  now  in  the  bloom  of  spring,  now 
in  the  maturity  of  autumn;  and  in  all  the  endless 
varieties  of  each." 

The  Friend  writes  thus. 

"  Hold  fast,  I  beseech  you,  to  the  resolution  to  wait 
for  light  from  the  Lord.  Go  not  to  men  for  a  creed, 
faint  not,  but  be  of  good  courage.  The  darkness  is 
only  for  a  season.  We  must  be  willing  to  tarry  the 
Lord's  time  in  the  wilderness,  if  we  would  enter  the 
Promised  Land.  The  purest  saints  that  I  have  ever 
known  were  long,  very  long,  in  darkness  and  in  dpubt. 
Even  when  they  had  firm  faith,  they  were  long  with 
out  feeling  what  they  believed  in.  One  told  me  he 
was  two  years  in  chaotic  darkness,  without  an  inch  of 
firm  ground  to  stand  upon,  watching  for  the  day- 
spring  from  on  high,  and  after  this  long  probation 
it  shone  upon  his  path,  and  he  has  walked  by  its  light 
for  years.  Do  not  fear  or  regret  your  isolation  from 
men,  your  difference  from  all  around  you.  It  is  often 
necessary  to  the  enlargement  of  the  soul  that  it  should 
thus  dwell  alone  for  a  season,  and  when  the  mystical 
union  of  God  and  man  shall  be  completely  developed, 
and  you  feel  yourself  newly  born  a  child  of  light,  one 
of  the  sons  of  God,  you  will  also  feel  new  ties  to  your 
fellow  men;  you  will  love  them  all  in  God,  and  each 
will  be  to  you  whatever  their  state  will  permit  them 
to  be. 

"  It  is  very  interesting  to  me  to  see,  as  I  do,  all 
around  me  here,  the  essential  doctrines  of  the  Quakers 
revived,  modified,  stript  of  all  that  puritanism  and 
sectarianism  had  heaped  upon  them,  and  made  the 
foundation  of  an  intellectual  philosophy,  that  is  illu 
minating  the  finest  minds  and  reaches  the  wants  of 
the  least  cultivated.  The  more  I  reflect  upon  the 
Quakers,  the  more  I  admire  the  early  ones,  and  am 


TRANSCENDENTALISM  63 

surprised  at  their  being  so  far  in  advance  of  their  age, 
but  they  have  educated  the  world  till  it  is  now  able 
to  go  beyond  those  teachers. 

"  Spiritual  growth,  which  they  considered  at  vari 
ance  with  intellectual  culture,  is  now  wedded  to  it, 
and  man's  whole  nature  is  advanced.  The  intellectual 
had  so  lorded  it  over  the  moral,  that  much  onesided 
cultivation  was  requisite  to  make  things  even.  I  re 
member  when  your  intellect  was  all  in  all,  and  the 
growth  of  the  moral  sense  came  after.  It  has  now 
taken  its  proper  place  in  your  mind,  and  the  intellect 
appears  for  a  time  prostrate,  but  in  due  season  both 
will  go  on  harmoniously,  and  you  will  be  a  perfect 
man.  If  you  suffer  more  than  many  before  coming 
into  the  light,  it  is  because  your  character  is  deeper 
and  your  happy  enlargement  will  be  proportioned 
to  it." 

The  identity,  which  the  writer  of  this  letter  finds 
between  the  speculative  opinions  of  serious  persons 
at  the  present  moment,  and  those  entertained  by  the 
first  Quakers,  is  indeed  so  striking  as  to  have  drawn 
a  very  general  attention  of  late  years  to  the  history  of 
that  sect.  .  .  .  Of  course,  in  proportion  to  the  depth 
of  the  experience,  will  be  its  independence  on  time 
and  circumstances,  yet  one  can  hardly  read  George 
Fox's  Journal,  or  Sewel's  History  of  the  Quakers, 
without  many  a  rising  of  joyful  surprise  at  the  corre 
spondence  of  facts  and  expressions  to  states  of 
thought  and  feeling,  with  which  we  are  very  familiar. 
The  writer  justly  remarks  the  equal  adaptation  of 
the  philosophy  in  question  "  to  the  finest  minds,  and 
to  the  least  cultivated."  And  so  we  add  in  regard 
to  these  works,  that  quite  apart  from  the  pleasure 
of  reading  modern  history  in  old  books,  the  reader 
will  find  another  reward  in  the  abundant  illustration 
they  furnish  to  the  fact,  that  wherever  the  religious 


64  TRANSCENDENTALISM 

enthusiasm  makes  its  appearance,  it  supplies  the  place 
of  poetry  and  philosophy  and  of  learned  discipline, 
and  inspires  by  itself  the  same  vastness  of  thinking; 
so  that  in  learning  the  religious  experiences  of  a 
strong  but  untaught  mind,  you  seem  to  have  sug 
gested  in  turn  all  the  sects  of  the  philosophers. 

We  seize  the  occasion  to  adorn  our  pages  with  the 
dying  speech  of  James  Naylor,  one  of  the  compan 
ions  of  Fox,  who  had  previously  been  for  eight  years 
a  common  soldier  in  the  army.  Its  least  service  will 
be  to  show  how  far  the  religious  sentiment  could  exalt 
the  thinking  and  purify  the  language  of  the  most 
uneducated  men. 

;*  There  is  a  spirit  which  I  feel,"  said  James  Naylor 
a  few  hours  before  his  death,  "  that  delights  to  do  no 
evil,  nor  to  revenge  any  wrong,  but  delights  to  endure 
all  things,  in  hope  to  enjoy  its  own  in  the  end.  Its 
hope  is  to  outlive  all  wrath  and  contention,  and  to 
weary  out  all  exultation  and  cruelty,  or  whatever  is 
of  a  nature  contrary  to  itself.  It  sees  to  the  end  of 
all  temptations.  As  it  bears  no  evil  in  itself,  so  it 
conceives  none  in  thought  to  any  other.  If  it  be  be 
trayed,  it  bears  it;  for  its  ground  and  spring  is  the 
mercies  and  forgiveness  of  God.  Its  crown  is  meek 
ness,  its  life  is  everlasting  love  unfeigned,  and  it  takes 
its  kingdom  with  entreaty,  and  keeps  it  by  lowliness 
of  mind.  In  God  alone  it  can  rejoice,  though  none 
else  regard  it,  or  can  own  its  life.  It  is  conceived  in 
sorrow,  and  brought  forth  without  any  to  pity  it;  nor 
doth  it  murmur  at  grief  and  oppression.  It  never 
rejoiceth  but  through  sufferings;  for  with  the  world's 
joy  it  is  murdered.  I  found  it  alone  being  forsaken. 
I  have  fellowship  therein  with  them  who  lived  in  dens 
and  desolate  places  of  the  earth,  who  through  death 
obtained  this  resurrection  and  eternal  holy  life." 


VEESHNOO    SARMA 

JULY,  1842 

WE  commence  in  the  present  number  the  printing 
of  a  series  of  selections  from  the  oldest  ethical  and  re- 
ligous  writings  of  men,  exclusive  of  the  Hebrew  and 
Greek  Scriptures.  Each  nation  has  its  bible  more  or 
less  pure ;  none  has  yet  been  willing  or  able  in  a  wise 
and  devout  spirit  to  collate  its  own  with  those  of  other 
nations,  and  sinking  the  civil-historical  and  the  ritual 
portions  to  bring  together  the  grand  expressions  of 
the  moral  sentiment  in  different  ages  and  races,  the 
rules  for  the  guidance  of  life,  the  bursts  of  piety  and 
of  abandonment  to  the  Invisible  and  Eternal ;  —  a 
wprk  inevitable  sooner  or  later,  and  which  we  hope  is 
to  be  done  by  religion  and  not  by  literature. 

The  following  sentences  are  taken  from  Charles 
Wilkins's  translation  of  the  Heetopades  or  Amicable 
Instructions  of  Veeshnoo  Sarma,  according  to  Sir 
William  Jones,  the  most  beautiful,  if  not  the  most  an 
cient  collection  of  apologues  in  the  world,  and  the 
original  source  of  the  book,  which  passes  in  the  modern 
languages  of  Europe  and  America,  under  the  false 
name  of  Pilpay. 

EXTRACTS   FROM   THE   HEETOPADES   OF  VEESHNOO 

SARMA 

Whatsoever  cometh  to  pass,  either  good  or  evil, 
is  the  consequence  of  a  man's  own  actions,  and  de- 
scendeth  from  the  power  of  the  Supreme  Ruler. 

65 


66  VEESHNOO    SARMA 

Our  lives  are  for  the  purposes  of  religion,  labor, 
love,  and  salvation.  If  these  are  destroyed,  what  is 
not  lost?  If  these  are  preserved,  what  is  not  pre 
served? 

A  wise  man  should  relinquish  both  his  wealth  and 
his  life  for  another.  All  is  to  be  surrendered  for  a 
just  man  when  he  is  reduced  to  the  brink  of  destruc 
tion^ 

Why  dost  thou  hesitate  over  this  perishable  body 
composed  of  flesh,  bones,  and  excrements?  O  my 
friend,  \my  body,}  support  my  reputation! 

If  constancy  is  to  be  obtained  by  inconstancy,  pu 
rity  by  impurity,  reputation  by  the  body,  then  what 
is  there  which  may  not  be  obtained? 

The  difference  between  the  body  and  the  qualities 
is  infinite;  the  body  is  a  thing  to  be  destroyed  in  a 
moment,  whilst  the  qualities  endure  to  the  end  of  the 
creation. 

Is  this  one  of  us,  or  is  he  a  stranger?  is  the  enumera 
tion  of  the  ungenerous;  but  to  those  by  whom  liber 
ality  is  practised,  the  whole  world  is  but  as  one 
family. 

Fortune  attendeth  that  lion  amongst  men  who  ex- 
erteth  himself.  They  are  weak  men  who  declare  Fate 
the  sole  cause. 

It  is  said,  Fate  is  nothing  but  the  deeds  committed 
in  a  former  state  of  existence;  wherefore  it  behoveth 
a  man  vigilantly  to  exert  the  powers  he  is  possessed 
of. 


VEESHNOO    SARMA  67 

The  stranger,  who  turneth  away  from  a  house  with 
disappointed  hopes,  leaveth  there  his  own  offences 
and  departeth,  taking  with  him  all  the  good  actions 
of  the  owner. 

Hospitality  is  to  be  exercised  even  towards  an 
enemy  when  he  cometh  to  thine  house.  The  tree  does 
not  withdraw  its  shade  even  from  the  wood-cutter. 

Of  all  men  thy  guest  is  the  superior. 

The  mind  of  a  good  man  does  not  alter  when  he  is 
in  distress;  the  waters  of  the  ocean  are  not  to  be 
heated  by  a  torch  of  straw. 

Nor  bathing  with  cool  water,  nor  a  necklace  of 
pearls,  nor  anointing  with  sanders,  yieldeth  such  com 
fort  to  the  body  oppressed  with  heat,  as  the  language 
of  a  good  man  cheerfully  uttered  doth  to  the  mind. 

Good  men  extend  their  pity  even  unto  the  most 
despicable  animals.  The  moon  doth  not  withhold  the 
light,  even  from  the  cottage  of  a  Chandala. 

Those  who  have  forsaken  the  killing  of  all;  those 
who  are  helpmates  to  all;  those  who  are  a  sanctuary 
to  all ;  those  men  are  in  the  way  to  heaven. 

Behold  the  difference  between  the  one  who  eateth 
flesh,  and  him  to  whom  it  belonged.  The  first  hath  a 
momentary  enjoyment,  whilst  the  latter  is  deprived 
of  existence. 

Who  would  commit  so  great  a  crime  against  a  poor 
animal,  who  is  fed  only  by  the  herbs  which  grow  wild 
in  the  woods,  and  whose  belly  is  burnt  up  with  hunger? 


68  VEESHNOO    SARMA 

Every  book  of  knowledge,  which  is  known  to  Oos- 
ana  or  to  Vreehaspatee,  is  by  nature  planted  in  the 
understanding  of  women. 

The  beauty  of  the  Kokeela  is  his  voice ;  the  beauty 
of  a  wife  is  constancy  to  her  husband;  the  beauty  of 
the  ill-favored  is  science ;  the  beauty  of  the  penitent  is 
patience. 

What  is  too  great  a  load  for  those  who  have 
strength?  What  is  distance  to  the  indefatigable? 
What  is  a  foreign  country  to  those  who  have  science? 
Who  is  a  stranger  to  those  who  have  the  habit  of 
speaking  kindly? 

Time  drinketh  up  the  essence  of  every  great  and 
noble  action,  which  ought  to  be  performed  and  is  de 
layed  in  the  execution. 

When  Nature  is  forsaken  by  her  lord,  be  she  ever 
so  great,  she  doth  not  survive. 

Suppose  thyself  a  river,  and  a  holy  pilgrimage  in 
the  land  of  Bharata,  of  which  truth  is  the  water,  good 
actions  the  banks,  and  compassion  the  current;  and 
then,  O  son  of  Pandoo,  wash  thyself  therein,  for 
the  inward  soul  is  not  to  be  purified  by  common 
water. 

As  frogs  to  the  pool,  as  birds  to  a  lake  full  of  water, 
so  doth  every  species  of  wealth  flow  to  the  hands  of 
him  who  exerteth  himself. 

If  we  are  rich  with  the  riches  which  we  neither 
give  nor  enjoy,  we  are  rich  with  the  riches  which  are 
buried  in  the  caverns  of  the  earth. 


VEESHNOO    SARMA  69 

He  whose  mind  is  at  ease  is  possessed  of  all  riches. 
Is  it  not  the  same  to  one  whose  foot  is  enclosed  in  a 
shoe,  as  if  the  whole  surface  of  the  earth  were  covered 
with  leather? 

Where  have  they,  who  are  running  here  and  there 
in  search  of  riches,  such  happiness  as  those  placid 
spirits  enjoy  who  are  gratified  at  the  immortal  foun 
tain  of  happiness? 

All  hath  heen  read,  all  hath  been  heard,  and  all 
hath  been  followed  by  him  who,  having  put  hope  be 
hind  him,  dependeth  not  upon  expectation. 

What  is  religion?  Compassion  for  all  things  which 
have  life.  What  is  happiness?  To  animals  in  this 
world,  health.  What  is  kindness?  A  principle  in  the 
good.  What  is  philosophy?  An  entire  separation 
from  the  world. 

To  a  hero  of  sound  mind,  what  is  his  own,  and  what 
a  foreign  country?  Wherever  he  halteth,  that  place 
is  acquired  by  the  splendor  of  his  arms. 

When  pleasure  is  arrived,  it  is  worthy  of  attention; 
when  trouble  presenteth  itself,  the  same;  pains  and 
pleasures  have  their  revolutions  like  a  wheel. 

One,  although  not  possessed  of  a  mine  of  gold,  may 
find  the  offspring  of  his  own  nature,  that  noble  ardor 
which  hath  for  its  object  the  accomplishment  of  the 
whole  assemblage  of  virtues. 

Man  should  not  be  over-anxious  for  a  subsistence, 
for  it  is  provided  by  the  Creator.  The  infant  no 


70  VEESHNOO    SARMA 

sooner  droppeth  from  the  womb,  than  the  breasts  of 
the  mother  begin  to  stream. 

He,  by  whom  geese  were  made  white,  parrots  are 
stained  green,  and  peacocks  painted  of  various  hues, 
—  even  he  will  provide  for  their  support. 

He,  whose  inclination  turneth  away  from  an  object, 
may  be  said  to  have  obtained  it. 


FOURIERISM    AND    THE    SOCIALISTS 

JULY,  1842 

THE  increasing  zeal  and  numbers  of  the  disciples  of 
Fourier,  in  America  and  in  Europe,  entitle  them  to  an 
attention  which  their  theory  and  practical  projects 
will  justify  and  reward.  In  London,  a  good  weekly 
newspaper  (lately  changed  into  a  monthly  journal) 
called  "  The  Phalanx,"  devoted  to  the  social  doctrines 
of  Charles  Fourier,  and  bearing  for  its  motto,  "  Asso 
ciation  and  Colonization,"  is  edited  by  Hugh  Doherty. 
Mr.  Etzler's  inventions,  as  described  in  the  Phalanx, 
promise  to  cultivate  twenty  thousand  acres  with  the 
aid  of  four  men  only  and  cheap  machinery.  Thus  the 
laborers  are  threatened  with  starvation,  if  they  do  not 
organize  themselves  into  corporations,  so  that  ma 
chinery  may  labor  for  instead  of  working  against 
them.  It  appears  that  Mr.  Young,  an  Englishman 
of  large  property,  has  purchased  the  Benedictine 
Abbey  of  Citeaux,  in  the  Mont  d'Or,  in  France,  with 
its  ample  domains,  for  the  purpose  of  establishing  a 
colony  there.  We  also  learn  that  some  members  of 
the  sect  have  bought  an  estate  at  Santa  Catharina, 
fifty  miles  from  Rio  Janeiro,  in  a  good  situation  for 
an  agricultural  experiment,  and  one  hundred  laborers 
have  sailed  from  Havre  to  that  port,  and  nineteen 
hundred  more  are  to  follow.  On  the  anniversary  of 
the  birthday  of  Fourier,  wrhich  occurred  in  April, 
public  festivals  were  kept  by  the  Socialists  in  London, 
in  Paris,  and  in  New  York.  In  the  city  of  New 
York,  the  disciples  of  Fourier  have  bought  a  column 

71 


72  FOURIERISM 

in  the  Daily  Tribune,  Horace  Greeley's  excellent 
newspaper,  whose  daily  and  weekly  circulation  ex 
ceeds  twenty  thousand  copies,  and  through  that  organ 
are  now  diffusing  their  opinions. 

We  had  lately  an  opportunity  of  learning  some 
thing  of  these  Socialists  and  their  theory  from  the 
indefatigable  apostle  of  the  sect  in  New  York,  Albert 
Brisbane.  Mr.  Brisbane  pushes  his  doctrine  with 
all  the  force  of  memory,  talent,  honest  faith,  and  im- 
portunacy.  As  we  listened  to  his  exposition,  it  ap 
peared  to  us  the  sublime  of  mechanical  philosophy; 
for  the  system  was  the  perfection  of  arrangement 
and  contrivance.  The  force  of  arrangement  could  no 
farther  go.  The  merit  of  the  plan  was  that  it  was  a 
system;  that  it  had  not  the  partiality  and  hint-and- 
f  ragment  character  of  most  popular  schemes,  but  was 
coherent  and  comprehensive  of  facts  to  a  wonderful 
degree.  It  was  not  daunted  by  distance,  or  magni 
tude,  or  remoteness  of  any  sort,  but  strode  about  na 
ture  with  a  giant's  step,  and  skipped  no  fact,  but  wove 
its  large  Ptolemaic  web  of  cycle  and  epicycle,  of  pha 
lanx  and  phalanstery,  with  laudable  assiduity.  Me 
chanics  were  pushed  so  far  as  fairly  to  meet  spiritual 
ism.  One  could  not  but  be  struck  with  strange  coinci 
dences  betwixt  Fourier  and  Swedenborg.  Genius 
hitherto  has  been  shamefully  misapplied,  a  mere 
trifler.  It  must  now  set  itself  to  raise  the  social  condi 
tion  of  man,  and  to  redress  the  disorders  of  the  planet 
he  inhabits.  The  Desert  of  Sahara,  the  Campagna  di 
Roma,  the  frozen  polar  circles,  which  by  their  pesti 
lential  or  hot  or  cold  airs  poison  the  temperate  re 
gions,  accuse  man.  Society,  concert,  co-operation,  is 
the  secret  of  the  coming  Paradise.  By  reason  of  the 
isolation  of  men  at  the  present  day,  all  work  is  drudg 
ery.  By  concert,  and  the  allowing  each  laborer  to 
choose  his  own  work,  it  becomes  pleasure.  "  Attrac- 


FOURIERISM  73 

tive  Industry  "  would  speedily  subdue,  by  adventur 
ous,  scientific,  and  persistent  tillage,  the  pestilential 
tracts ;  would  equalize  temperature ;  give  health  to  the 
globe,  and  cause  the  earth  to  yield  "  healthy  impon 
derable  fluids  "  to  the  solar  system,  as  now  it  yields 
noxious  fluids.  The  hyaena,  the  jackal,  the  gnat,  the 
bug,  the  flea,  were  all  beneficent  parts  of  the  system; 
the  good  Fourier  knew  what  those  creatures  should 
have  been,  had  not  the  mould  slipped,  through  the  bad 
state  of  the  atmosphere,  caused,  no  doubt,  by  these 
same  vicious  imponderable  fluids.  All  these  shall  be 
redressed  by  human  culture,  and  the  useful  goat,  and 
dog,  and  innocent  poetical  moth,  or  the  wood-tick  to 
consume  decomposing  wood,  shall  take  their  place. 
It  takes  1680  men  to  make  one  Man,  complete  in  all 
the  faculties;  that  is,  to  be  sure  that  you  have  got  a 
good  joiner,  a  good  cook,  a  barber,  a  poet,  a  judge,  an 
umbrella-maker,  a  mayor  and  aldermen,  and  so  on. 
Your  community  should  consist  of  2000  persons,  to 
prevent  accidents  of  omission;  and  each  community 
should  take  up  6000  acres  of  land.  Now  fancy  the 
earth  planted  with  fifties  and  hundreds  of  these  pha 
lanxes  side  by  side,  —  what  tillage,  what  architecture, 
what  refectories,  what  dormitories,  what  reading 
rooms,  what  concerts,  what  lectures,  what  gardens, 
what  baths!  What  is  not  in  one,  will  be  in  another, 
and  many  will  be  within  easy  distance.  Then  know 
you  and  all,  that  Constantinople  is  the  natural  capital 
of  the  globe.  There,  in  the  Golden  Horn,  will  be  the 
Arch-Phalanx  established,  there  will  the  Omniarch 
reside.  Aladdin  and  his  magician,  or  the  beautiful 
Scheherzarade,  can  alone  in  these  prosaic  times,  be 
fore  the  sight,  describe  the  material  splendors  col 
lected  there.  Poverty  shall  be  abolished;  deformity, 
stupidity,  and  crime  shall  be  no  more.  Genius,  grace, 
art,  shall  abound,  and  it  is  not  to  be  doubted  but  that, 


74  FOUBIERISM 

in  the  reign  of  "  Attractive  Industry,"  all  men  will 
speak  in  blank  verse. 

Certainly  we  listened  with  great  pleasure  to  such 
gay  and  magnificent  pictures.  The  ability  and  earn 
estness  of  the  advocate  and  his  friends,  the  compre 
hensiveness  of  their  theory,  its  apparent  directness 
of  proceeding  to  the  end  they  would  secure,  the  indig 
nation  they  felt  and  uttered  at  all  other  speculation 
in  the  presence  of  so  much  social  misery,  commanded 
our  attention  and  respect.  It  contained  so  much 
truth,  and  promised  in  the  attempts  that  shall  be 
made  to  realize  it  so  much  valuable  instruction,  that 
we  are  engaged  to  observe  every  step  of  its  progress. 
Yet  in  spite  of  the  assurances  of  its  friends,  that  it 
was  new  and  widely  discriminated  from  all  other  plans 
for  the  regeneration  of  society  we  could  not  exempt  it 
from  the  criticism  which  we  apply  to  so  many  projects 
for  reform  with  which  the  brain  of  the  age  teems. 
Our  feeling  was,  that  Fourier  had  skipped  no  fact  but 
one,  namely,  Life.  He  treats  man  as  a  plastic  thing, 
something  that  may  be  put  up  or  down,  ripened  or  re 
tarded,  moulded,  polished,  made  into  solid,  or  fluid, 
or  gas,  at  the  will  of  the  leader ;  or,  perhaps,  as  a  vege 
table,  from  which,  though  now  a  poor  crab,  a  very 
good  peach  can  by  manure  and  exposure  be  in  time 
produced,  but  skips  the  faculty  of  life,  which  spawns 
and  scorns  system  and  system-makers,  which  eludes 
all  conditions,  which  makes  or  supplants  a  thousand 
phalanxes  and  New-Harmonies  with  each  pulsation. 
There  is  an  order  in  which  in  a  sound  mind  the  facul 
ties  always  appear,  and  which,  according  to  the 
strength  of  the  individual,  they  seek  to  realize  in  the 
surrounding  world.  The  value  of  Fourier's  system  is 
that  it  is  a  statement  of  such  an  order  externized,  or 
carried  outward  into  its  correspondence  in  facts.  The 
mistake  is,  that  this  particular  order  and  series  is  to 


FOURIERISM  75 

be  imposed  by  force  of  preaching  and  votes  on  all 
men,  and  carried  into  rigid  execution.  But  what  is 
true  and  good  must  not  only  be  begun  by  life,  but 
must  be  conducted  to  its  issues  by  life.  Could  not  the 
conceiver  of  this  design  have  also  believed  that  a  simi 
lar  model  lay  in  every  mind,  and  that  the  method  of 
each  associate  might  be  trusted,  as  well  as  that  of 
his  particular  Committee  and  General  Office,  No. 
200  Broadway?  nay,  that  it  would  be  better  to  say,  let 
us  be  lovers  and  servants  of  that  which  is  just;  and 
straightaway  every  man  becomes  a  centre  of  a  holy 
and  beneficent  republic,  which  he  sees  to  include  all 
men  in  its  law,  like  that  of  Plato,  and  of  Christ.  Be 
fore  such  a  man  the  whole  world  becomes  Fourierized 
or  Christized  or  humanized,  and  in  the  obedience  to  his 
most  private  being,  he  finds  himself,  according  to  his 
presentiment,  though  against  all  sensuous  probability, 
acting  in  strict  concert  with  all  others  who  followed 
their  private  light. 

Yet  in  a  day  of  small,  sour,  and  fierce  schemes,  one 
is  admonished  and  cheered  by  a  project  of  such 
friendly  aims,  and  of  such  bold  and  generous  propor 
tion;  there  is  an  intellectual  courage  and  strength  in 
it,  which  is  superior  and  commanding:  it  certifies  the 
presence  of  so  much  truth  in  the  theory,  and  in  so  far 
is  destined  to  be  fact. 

But  now,  whilst  we  write  these  sentences,  comes  to 
us  a  paper  from  Mr.  Brisbane  himself.  We  are  glad 
of  the  opportunity  of  letting  him  speak  for  himself. 
He  has  much  more  to  'say  than  we  have  hinted,  and 
here  has  treated  a  general  topic.  We  have  not  room 
for  quite  all  the  matter  which  he  has  sent  us,  but  per 
suade  ourselves  that  we  have  retained  every  material 
statement,  in  spite  of  the  omissions  which  we  find  it 
necessary  to  make,  to  contract  his  paper  to  so  much 
room  as  we  offered  him. 


76  FOURIERISM 

Mr.  Brisbane,  in  a  prefatory  note  to  his  article,  an 
nounces  himself  as  an  advocate  of  the  Social  Laws 
discovered  by  CHARLES  FOURIER,  and  iirtimates  that 
he  wishes  to  connect  whatever  value  attaches  to  any 
statement  of  his,  with  the  work  in  which  he  is  exclu 
sively  engaged,  that  of  Social  Reform.  He  adds  the 
following  broad  and  generous  declaration. 

"  It  seems  to  me  that,  with  the  spectacle  of  the 
present  misery  and  degradation  of  the  human  race 
before  us,  all  scientific  researches  and  speculations,  to 
be  of  any  real  value,  should  have  a  bearing  upon  the 
means  of  their  social  elevation  and  happiness.  The 
mass  of  scientific  speculations,  which  are  every  day 
offered  to  the  world  by  men,  who  are  not  animated  by 
a  deep  interest  in  the  elevation  of  their  race,  and  who 
exercise  their  talents  merely  to  build  up  systems,  or  to 
satisfy  a  spirit  of  controversy,  or  personal  ambition, 
are  perfectly  valueless.  What  is  more  futile  than 
barren  philosophical  speculation,  that  leads  to  no 
great  practical  results?  " 


INTELLIGENCE 

JULY,  1842 

Exploring  Expedition.  The  United  States  Cor 
vette  Vincennes,  Captain  Charles  Wilkes,  the  flag 
ship  of  the  Exploring  Expedition,  arrived  at  New 
York  on  Friday,  June  10th,  from  a  cruise  of  nearly 
four  years.  The  Brigs  Porpoise  and  Oregon  may 
shortly  be  expected.  The  Expedition  has  executed 
every  part  of  the  duties  confided  to  it  by  the  Govern 
ment.  A  long  list  of  ports,  harbors,  islands,  reefs,  and 
shoals,  named  in  the  list,  have  been  visited  and  ex 
amined  or  surveyed.  The  positions  assigned  on  the 
charts  to  several  vigias,  reefs,  shoals,  and  islands,  have 
been  carefully  looked  for,  run  over,  and  found  to  have 
no  existence  in  or  near  the  places  assigned  them. 
Several  of  the  principal  groups  and  islands  in  the 
Pacific  Ocean  have  been  visited,  examined,  and  sur 
veyed;  and  friendly  intercourse,  and  protective  com 
mercial  regulations,  established  with  the  chiefs  and  na 
tives.  The  discoveries  in  the  Antarctic  Ocean  (Ant 
arctic  continent,  —  observations  for  fixing  the  South 
ern  Magnetic  pole,  &c. )  preceded  those  of  the  French 
and  English  expeditions.  The  Expedition,  during  its 
absence,  has  also  examined  and  surveyed  a  large  por 
tion  of  the  Oregon  Territory,  a  part  of  Upper  Cali 
fornia,  including  the  Columbia  and  Sacramento 
Rivers,  with  their  various  tributaries.  Several  explor 
ing  parties  from  the  Squadron  have  explored,  exam 
ined,  and  fixed  those  portions  of  the  Oregon  Terri 
tory  least  known.  A  map  of  the  Territory,  embra- 

77 


78  INTELLIGENCE 

cing  its  Rivers,  Sounds,  Harbors,  Coasts,  Forts,  &c., 
has  been  prepared,  which  will  furnish  the  information 
relative  to  our  possessions  on  the  Northwest  Coast, 
and  the  whole  of  Oregon.  Experiments  have  been 
made  with  the  pendulum,  magnetic  apparatus,  and 
various  other  instruments,  on  all  occasions,  —  the 
temperature  of  the  ocean,  at  various  depths,  ascer 
tained  in  the  different  seas  traversed,  and  full  meteor 
ological  and  other  observations  kept  up  during  the 
cruise.  Charts  of  all  the  surveys  have  been  made,  with 
views  and  sketches  of  headlands,  towns  or  villages, 
&c.,  with  descriptions  of  all  that  appertains  to  the 
localities,  productions,  language,  customs,  and  man 
ners.  At  some  of  the  islands,  this  duty  has  been  at 
tended  with  much  labor,  exposure,  and  risk  of  life, 
—  the  treacherous  character  of  the  natives  rendering 
it  absolutely  necessary  that  the  officers  and  men  should 
be  armed,  while  on  duty,  and  at  all  times  prepared 
against  their  murderous  attacks.  On  several  occa 
sions,  boats  have  been  absent  from  the  different  ves 
sels  of  the  Squadron  on  surveying  duty,  (the  greater 
part  of  which  has  been  performed  in  boats,)  among 
islands,  reefs,  &c.,  for  a  period  of  ten,  twenty,  and 
thirty  days  at  one  time.  On  one  of  these  occasions, 
two  of  the  officers  were  killed  at  the  Fiji  group,  while 
defending  their  boat's  crew  from  an  attack  by  the  Na 
tives. 

Association  of  State  Geologists.  After  holding  an 
nual  meetings  in  New  York  and  Philadelphia,  the 
Geologists  assembled  in  April  of  this  year  in  Boston, 
to  the  number  of  f o'rty,  from  the  most  distant  points 
of  the  Union.  Members  were  present  from  Natchez 
and  Iowa.  Mr.  Lyell  from  London  was  present. 
From  we  know  not  what  inadvertence,  the  notice  of 
so  unusual  a  scientific  union  failed  to  reach  the  ancient 
ears  of  the  University,  at  three  miles'  distance. 


INTELLIGENCE  79 

Neither  its  head  nor  its  members,  neither  the  pro 
fessor  of  Geology  nor  the  professor  of  Physics  arrived 
to  welcome  these  pilgrims  of  science,  from  the  far 
East  and  the  far  West,  to  the  capital  and  University 
of  New  England.  The  public  Address  was  made  by 
Mr.  Silliman,  and  reports  and  debates  of  the  most 
animated  and  various  interest,  by  the  Messrs.  Rogers 
of  Pennsylvania  and  of  Virginia,  Dr.  Morton  of 
Philadelphia,  and  others,  a  full  report  of  which  is  in 
the  course  of  publication.  The  next  annual  meeting 
is  to  be  holden  in  Albany,  N.  Y. 

Harvard  University.  The  Chair  of  Natural  His 
tory,  vacant  since  the  resignation  of  Mr.  Nuttall,  is 
filled  by  the  appointment  of  Asa  Gray,  M.  D.,  known 
to  the  botanists  as  the  associate  of  Mr.  Torrey  of  New 
York.  In  the  Divinity  College,  the  Chair  of  Pulpit 
Eloquence  and  Pastoral  Care,  vacant  by  the  resigna 
tion  of  Henry  Ware,  Jr.,  is  to  be  filled  by  Dr.  Convers 
Francis.  A  generous  subscription  by  several  friends 
of  the  College  has  resulted  in  a  fund  of  more  than  20,- 
000  dollars  for  the  purchase  of  books  for  the  College 
Library.  The  College  has  also  received  a  bequest 
which  promises  at  a  future  day  to  be  a  valuable 
foundation.  Benjamin  Bussey,  Esq.  has  provided  in 
his  will  for  the  application  of  the  income  of  his  prop 
erty  to  the  benefit  of  certain  heirs  therein  named.  At 
the  decease  of  the  survivor  of  them,  and  subject  to 
the  payment  of  any  annuities  then  existing,  he  gives 
all  his  property  to  Harvard  University  for  the  fol 
lowing  purposes.  His  Estate  in  Boxbury  is  to  be 
held  forever  as  a  Seminary  for  "  instruction  in  practi 
cal  agriculture,  in  useful  and  ornamental  gardening, 
in  botany,  and  in  such  other  branches  of  natural 
science,  as  may  tend  to  promote  a  knowledge  of  prac 
tical  agriculture,  and  the  various  arts  subservient 
thereto,  and  connected  therewith."  The  government 


80  INTELLIGENCE 

of  the  University  is  also  "  to  cause  such  courses  of 
lectures  to  be  delivered  there,  at  such  seasons  of  the 
year  and  under  such  regulations  as  they  may  think 
best  adapted  to  promote  the  ends  designed;  and  also 
to  furnish  gratuitous  aid,  if  they  shall  think  it  expe 
dient,  to  such  meritorious  persons  as  may  resort  there 
for  instruction."  One  half  of  the  net  income  of  his 
property  is  to  be  appropriated  to  maintain  that  insti 
tution;  and  the  residue  of  the  income  is  to  be  divided 
equally  between  the  Divinity  School  and  the  Law 
School  of  the  University.  Mr.  Bussey's  property  is 
estimated  at  not  less  than  three  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  dollars. 

On  the  subject  of  the  University  we  cannot  help 
wishing  that  a  change  will  one  day  be  adopted  which 
will  put  an  end  to  the  foolish  bickering  between  the 
government  and  the  students,  which  almost  every  year 
breaks  out  into  those  uncomfortable  fracases  which 
are  called  "  Rebellions."  Cambridge  is  so  well  en 
dowed,  and  offers  such  large  means  of  education,  that 
it  can  easily  assume  the  position  of  an  University,  and 
leave  to  the  numerous  younger  Colleges  the  charge 
of  pupils  too  young  to  be  trusted  from  home.  This 
is  instantly  effected  by  the  Faculty's  confining  itself 
to  the  office  of  Instruction,  and  omitting  to  assume  the 
office  of  Parietal  Government.  Let  the  College  pro 
vide  the  best  teachers  in  each  department,  and  for  a 
stipulated  price  receive  the  pupil  to  its  lecture-rooms 
and  libraries;  but  in  the  matter  of  morals  and  man 
ners,  leave  the  student  to  his  own  conscience,  and  if  he 
is  a  bad  subject  to  the  ordinary  police.  This  course 
would  have  the  effect  of  keeping  back  pupils  from 
College,  a  year  or  two,  or,  in  some  cases,  of  bringing 
the  parents  or  guardians  of  the  pupil  to  reside  in  Cam 
bridge;  but  it  would  instantly  destroy  the  root  of  end 
less  grievances  between  the  student  and  teacher,  put 


INTELLIGENCE  81 

both  parties  on  the  best  footing,  —  indispensable,  one 
would  say,  to  good  teaching,  —  and  relieve  the  pro 
fessors  of  an  odious  guardianship,  always  degenera 
ting  into  espionage,  which  must  naturally  indispose 
men  of  genius  and  honorable  mind  from  accepting 
the  professor's  chair. 

From  London  we  have  Mr.  Wordsworth's  new  vol 
ume  of  poems,  which  is  not  a  bookseller's  book,  but 
a  poet's  book.  We  have  read  them  all  with  great 
content,  and  very  willingly  forgave  the  poet  for  wri 
ting  against  the  abolition  of  capital  punishment,  for 
the  sake  of  the  self-respect  and  truth  to  his  own  char 
acter,  which  the  topic  and  the  treatment  evinced.  We 
should  say  the  same  thing  of  his  sonnet  levelled  at 
Mr.  Thomas  Carlyle.  But  the  name  of  Wordsworth 
reminds  us  of  another  matter  far  less  pleasant  than 
poetry,  namely,  the  profligate  course  recently  adopted 
by  some  of  the  States  of  the  Union  in  relation  to  their 
public  debt.  The  following  is  an  extract  from  a  letter 
of  Mr.  Wordsworth  to  Bishop  Doane  of  New  Jersey. 
"  The  proceedings  of  some  of  the  States  in  your  coun 
try,  in  money  concerns,  and  the  shock  which  is  given 
to  the  credit  of  the  State  of  Pennsylvania,  have  caused 
much  trouble  under  our  roof,  by  the  injury  done  to 
some  of  my  most  valuable  connexions  and  friends.  I 
am  not  personally  and  directly  a  sufferer;  but  my 
brother,  if  the  State  of  Pennsylvania  should  fail  to 
fulfil  its  engagements,  would  lose  almost  all  the  little 
savings  of  his  long  and  generous  life.  My  daughter, 
through  the  perfidy  of  the  State  of  Mississippi,  has 
forfeited  a  sum,  though  but  small  in  itself,  large  for 
her  means ;  a  great  portion  of  my  most  valued  friends 
have  to  lament  their  misplaced  confidence.  Topics 
of  this  kind  are  not  pleasant  to  dwell  upon,  but  the 
more  extensively  the  injury  is  made  known,  the  more 
likely  is  it,  that  where  any  remains  of  integrity,  honor, 


82  INTELLIGENCE 

or  even  common  humanity  exist,  efforts  will  be  made 
to  set  and  keep  things  right."  We  have  learned  also 
with  mortification  that  John  Sterling,  whose  poems 
have  been  lately  reprinted  in  this  country,  had  in 
vested  £2000  in  the  worthless  stock  of  the  Morris 
Canal  Company,  and  later,  that  Mr.  Carlyle  had  in 
vested  $1000  in  stock  of  the  State  of  Illinois,  which 
presently  proved  worthless.  In  this  way  the  heavens 
have  taken  care  that  the  character  of  our  rotten  public 
stocks  and  the  doctrine  of  "  Repudiation  "  shall  be 
damned  to  fame. 

Alfred  Tennyson,  moved  by  being  informed  of  his 
American  popularity,  has  given  himself  to  the  labor 
of  revising  and  reprinting  a  selection  of  his  old  poems, 
and  adding  as  many  new  ones,  which  he  has  sent  to 
Mr.  Wheeler  of  Harvard  University,  who  is  repub- 
lishing  them  here. 

Henry  Taylor,  too,  the  author  of  Van  Artevelde, 
announces  a  new  dramatic  poem  in  press  in  London. 
John  Sterling  is  still  engaged  on  a  tragedy,  "  Straf- 
ford,"  which  should  have  been  finished  before  this 
time,  but  for  the  ill  health  of  the  poet,  which  has 
driven  him  to  the  south  of  Italy.  Thomas  Carlyle  is 
understood  to  be  engaged  on  the  Life  of  Oliver 
Cromwell. 

Berlin.  From  Berlin,  "  The  City  of  Criticism,"  we 
learned,  in  the  past  months,  that  the  king  of  Prussia 
was  gathering  around  him  a  constellation  of  men  of 
science.  The  city  was  already  the  residence  of  Hum- 
boldt,  of  Bettine  von  Arnim,  of  Raumer,  of  Ranke,  of 
Ritter,  and  of  Ehrenberg.  G.  F.  Waagen  is  director 
of  the  Royal  Gallery;  and  now  Cornelius,  the  great 
fresco  painter ;  Ruckert,  the  poet ;  Tholuck,  the  theo- 


INTELLIGENCE  83 

logian;*  and,  greatest  of  all,  Schelling,  from  Munich, 
are  there.  The  king  is  discontented  with  the  Hegel 
influence,  which  has  predominated  at  Berlin,  and,  we 
regret  to  say,  set  himself  to  suppress  the  "  Hallische 
Jahrbucher;  "  which,  though  published  at  Halle,  de 
pended  for  its  support  mainly  on  Berlin.  With  this 
view,  also,  he  summons  the  great  Schelling,  now 
nearly  seventy  years  old,  to  lecture  on  the  Philosophy 
of  Revelation.  We  have  private  accounts  of  this  lec 
tures,  which  began  in  the  last  November.  The  lecture 
room  was  crowded  to  suffocation;  the  pale  professor, 
whose  face  resembles  that  of  Socrates,  was  greeted 
with  thunders  of  acclamation,  but  he  remained  pale 
and  unmoved  as  if  in  his  own  study,  and  apparently 
quite  unconscious  that  he  was  making  a  new  epoch  in 
German  history.  His  first  lecture  has  been  published 
at  Berlin.  Such  are  the  social  and  aesthetic  attractions 
of  this  city,  that  it  is  said  to  acquire  a  new  population 
of  six  thousand  souls  every  year,  by  the  residence  of 
travellers,  who  are  arrested  by  its  music,  its  theatre, 
and  the  arts. 


ENGLISH    REFORMERS 

OCTOBER,   1842 

WHILST  Mr.  Sparks  visits  England  to  explore 
the  manuscripts  of  the  Colonial  Office,  and  Dr. 
Waagen  on  a  mission  of  Art,  Mr.  Alcott,  whose 
genius  and  efforts  in  the  great  art  of  Education  have 
been  more  appreciated  in  England  than  in  America, 
has  now  been  spending  some  months  in  that  country, 
with  the  aim  to  confer  with  the  most  eminent  Edu 
cators  and  philanthropists,  in  the  hope  to  exchange 
intelligence,  and  import  into  this  country  whatever 
hints  have  been  struck  out  there,  on  the  subject  of 
literature  and  the  First  Philosophy.  The  design 
was  worthy,  and  its  first  results  have  already  reached 
us.  Mr.  Alcott  was  received1  with  great  cordiality 
of  joy  and  respect  by  his  friends  in  London,  and 
presently  found  himself  domesticated  at  an  institu 
tion,  managed  on  his  own  methods  and  called  after 
his  name,  the  School  of  Mr.  Wright  at  Alcott  House, 
Ham,  Surrey.  He  was  introduced  to  many  men  of 
literary  and  philanthropic  distinction,  and  his  arrival 
was  made  the  occasion  of  meetings  for  public  con 
versation  on  the  great  ethical  questions  of  the 
day. 

Mr.  Alcott's  mission,  beside  making  us  acquainted 
with  the  character  and  labors  of  some  excellent  per 
sons,  has  loaded  our  table  with  a  pile  of  English  books, 
pamphlets,  periodicals,  flying  prospectuses,  and  ad 
vertisements,  proceeding  from  a  class  very  little 
known  in  this  country,  and  on  many  accounts  impor- 

84 


ENGLISH   REFORMERS  85 

tant,  the  party,  namely,  who  represent  Social  Reform. 
Here  are  Educational  Circulars,  and  Communist 
Apostles;  Alists;  Plans  for  Syncretic  Associations, 
and  Pestalozzian  Societies,  Self-supporting  Institu 
tions,  Experimental  Normal  Schools,  Hydropathic 
and  Philosophical1  Associations,  Health  Unions  and 
Phalansterian  Gazettes,  Paradises  within  the  reach 
of  all  men,  Appeals  of  Man  to  Woman,  and  Neces 
sities  of  Internal  Marriage  illustrated  by  Phrenolog 
ical  Diagrams.  These  papers  have  many  sins  to 
answer  for.  There  is  an  abundance  of  superficialness, 
of  pedantry,  of  inflation,  and  of  want  of  thought.  It 
seems  as  if  these  sanguine  schemers  rushed  to  the 
press  with  every  notion  that  danced  before  their  brain, 
and  clothed  it  in  the  most  clumsily  compounded  and 
terminated  words,  for  want  of  time  to  find  the  right 
one.  But  although  these  men  sometimes  use  a  swollen 
and  vicious  diction,  yet  they  write  to  ends  which  raise 
them  out  of  the  jurisdiction  of  ordinary  criticism. 
They  speak  to  the  conscience,  and  have  that  superi 
ority  over  the  crowd  of  their  contemporaries,  which 
belongs  to  men  who  entertain  a  good  hope.  More 
over,  these  pamphlets  may  well  engage  the  attention 
of  the  politician,  as  straws  of  no  mean  significance 
to  show  the  tendencies  of  the  time. 

Mr.  Alcott's  visit  has  brought  us  nearer  to  a  class 
of  Englishmen,  with  whom  we  had  already  some 
slight  but  friendly  correspondence,  who  possess  points 
of  so  much  attraction  for  us,  that  we  shall  proceed 
to  give  a  short  account  both  of  what  we  already  knew, 
and  what  we  have  lately  learned,  concerning  them. 
The  central  figure  in  the  group  is  a  very  remarkable 
person,  who  for  many  years,  though  living  in  great 
retirement,  has  made  himself  felt  by  many  of  the 
best  and  ablest  men  in  England  and  in  Europe,  we 
mean  James  Pierrepont  Greaves,  who  died  at  Alcott- 


86  ENGLISH   REFORMERS 

House  in  the  month  of  March  of  this  year.  Mr. 
Greaves  was  formerly  a  wealthy  merchant  in  the  city 
of  London,  but  was  deprived  of  his  property  by 
French  spoliations  in  Napoleon's  time.  Quitting  busi 
ness,  he  travelled  and  resided  for  some  time  in  Ger 
many.  His  leisure  was  given  to  books  of  the  deepest 
character;  and  in  Switzerland  he  found  a  brother  in 
Pestalozzi.  With  him  he  remained  ten  years,  living 
abstemiously,  almost  on  biscuit  and  water;  and 
though  they  never  learned  each  the  other's  language, 
their  daily  intercourse  appears  to  have  been  of  the 
deepest  and  happiest  kind.  Mr.  Greaves  there  made 
himself  useful  in  a  variety  of  ways.  Pestalozzi  de 
clared  that  Mr.  Greaves  understood  his  aim  and 
methods  better  than  any  other  observer.  And  he 
there  became  acquainted  with  some  eminent  persons. 
Mr.  Greaves  on  his  return  to  England  introduced  as 
much  as  he  could  of  the  method  and  life,  whose  beau 
tiful  and  successful  operations  he  had  witnessed ;  and 
although  almost  all  that  he  did  was  misunderstood,  or 
dragged  downwards,  he  has  been  a  chief  instrument 
in  the  regeneration  in  the  British  schools.  For  a  sin 
gle  and  unknown  individual  his  influence  has  been 
extensive.  He  set  on  foot  Infant  Schools,  and  was 
for  many  years  Secretary  to  the  Infant  School  Soci 
ety,  which  office  brought  him  in  contact  with  many 
parties,  and  he  has  connected  himself  with  almost 
every  effort  for  human  emancipation.  In  this  work 
he  was  engaged  up  to  the  time  of  his  death.  His  long 
and  active  career  developed  his  own  faculties  and 
powers  in  a  wonderful  manner.  At  his  house,  No.  49 
Burton  Street,  London,  he  was  surrounded  by  men 
of  open  and  accomplished  minds,  and  his  doors  were 
thrown  open  weekly  for  meetings  for  the  discussion 
of  universal  subjects.  In  the  last  years  he  has  resided 
at  Cheltenham,  arid  visited  Stockport  for  the  sake  of 


ENGLISH   REFORMERS  87 

acquainting  himself  with  the  Socialists  and  their 
methods. 

His  active  and  happy  career  continued  nearly  to 
the  seventieth  year,  with  heart  and  head  unimpaired 
and  undaunted,  his  eyes  and  other  faculties  sound, 
except  his  lower  limbs,  which  suffered  from  his  seden 
tary  occupation  of  writing.  For  nearly  thirty-six 
years  he  abstained  from  all  fermented  drinks,  and  all 
animal  food.  In  the  last  years  he  dieted  almost  wholly 
on  fruit.  The  private  correspondent,  from  whose  ac 
count,  written  two  years  ago,  we  have  derived  our 
sketch,  proceeds  in  these  words.  "  Through  evil  re 
ports,  revilings,  seductions,  and  temptations  many 
and  severe,  the  Spirit  has  not  let  him  go,  but  has 
strongly  and  securely  held  him,  in  a  manner  not  often 
witnessed.  New  consciousness  opens  to  him  every 
day.  His  literary  abilities  would  not  be  by  critics  en 
titled  to  praise,  nor  does  he  speak  with  what  is  called 
eloquence ;  but  as  he  is  so  much  the  *  lived  word/  I 
have  described,  there  is  found  a  potency  in  all  he 
writes  and  all  he  says,  which  belongs  not  to  beings 
less  devoted  to  the  Spirit.  Supplies  of  money  have 
come  to  him  as  fast,  or  nearly  as  fast  as  required,  and 
at  all  events  his  serenity  was  never  disturbed  on  this 
account,  unless  when  it  has  happened  that,  having 
more  than  his  expenses  required,  he  has  volunteered 
extraneous  expenditures.  He  has  been,  I  consider,  a 
great  apostle  of  the  Newness  to  many,  even  when 
neither  he  nor  they  knew  very  clearly  what  was  going 
forward.  Thus  inwardly  married,  he  has  remained 
outwardly  a  bachelor." 

Mr.  Greaves  is  described  to  us  by  another  corre 
spondent  as  being  "  the  soul  of  his  circle,  a  prophet  of 
whom  the  world  heard  nothing,  but  who  has  quickened 
much  of  the  thought  now  current  in  the  most  intellec 
tual  circles  of  the  kingdom.  He  was  acquainted  with 


88  ENGLISH   REFORMERS 

every  man  of  deep  character  in  England,  and  many 
both  in  Germany  and  Switzerland;  and  Strauss,  the 
author  of  the  '  Life  of  Christ/  was  a  pupil  of  Mr. 
Greaves,  when  he  held  conversations  in  one  of  the 
Colleges  of  Germany,  after  leaving  Pestalozzi.  A 
most  remarkable  man;  nobody  remained  the  same 
after  leaving  him.  He  was  the  prophet  of  the  deepest 
affirmative  truths,  and  no  man  ever  sounded  his 
depths.  The  best  of  the  thought  in  the  London 
Monthly  Magazine  was  the  transcript  of  his  Idea. 
He  read  and  wrote  much,  chiefly  in  the  manner  of 
Coleridge,  with  pen  in  hand,  in  the  form  of  notes  on 
the  text  of  his  author.  But,  like  Boehmen  and  Swe- 
denborg,  neither  his  thoughts  nor  his  writings  were 
for  the  popular  mind.  His  favorites  were  the  chosen 
illuminated  minds  of  all  time,  and  with  them  he  was 
familiar.  His  library  is  the  most  select  and  rare  which 
I  have  seen,  including  most  of  the  books  which  we 
have  sought  with  so  ill  success  on  our  side  of  the 
water."  * 

His  favorite  dogma  was  the  superiority  of  Being  to 

1  The  following  notice  of  Mr.  Greaves  occurs  in  Mr.  Morgan's 
"  Hampden  in  the  Nineteenth  Century."  "  The  gentleman  whom 
he  met  at  the  school  was  Mr.  J.  P.  Greaves,  at  that  time  Honor 
ary  Secretary  to  the  Infant  School  Society,  and  a  most  active  and 
disinterested  promoter  of  the  system.  He  had  resided  for 
three  (?)  years  with  Pestalozzi,  who  set  greater  value  upon  right 
feelings  and  rectitude  of  conduct,  than  upon  the  acquisition  of 
languages.  A  collection  of  highly  interesting  letters,  addressed 
to  this  gentleman  by  Pestalozzi  on  the  subject  of  education,  has 
been  published.  Among  the  numerous  advocates  for  various  im 
provements,  there  was  not  one  who  exceeded  him  in  personal 
sacrifices  to  what  he  esteemed  a  duty.  At  the  same  time  he  had 
some  peculiar  opinions,  resembling  the  German  mystical  and 
metaphysical  speculations,  hard  to  be  understood,  and  to  which 
few  in  general  are  willing  to  listen,  and  still  fewer  to  subscribe; 
but  his  sincerity,  and  the  kindness  of  his  disposition  always  se 
cured  for  him  a  patient  hearing."  —  Vol.  II.  p.  22. 


ENGLISH   REFORMERS  89 

all  knowing  and  doing.  Association  on  a  high  basis 
was  his  ideal  for  the  present  conjuncture.  "  I  hear 
every  one  crying  out  for  association,"  said  he;  "  I  join 
in  the  cry;  but  then  I  say,  associate  first  with  the 
Spirit,  —  educate  for  this  spirit-association;  and  far 
more  will  follow  than  we  have  as  yet  any  idea  of. 
Nothing  good  can  be  done  without  association;  but 
then  we  must  associate  with  goodness ;  and  this  good 
ness  is  the  spirit-nature,  without  which  all  our  socie- 
tarian  efforts  will  be  turned  to  corruption.  Educa 
tion  has  hitherto  been  all  outward;  it  must  now  be 
inward.  The  educator  must  keep  in  view  that  which 
elevates  man,  and  not  the  visible  exterior  world." 
We  have  the  promise  of  some  extracts  from  the  wri 
tings  of  this  great  man,  which  we  hope  shortly  to 
offer  to  the  readers  of  this  Journal.  His  friend,  Mr. 
Lane,  is  engaged  in  arranging  and  editing  his  manu 
script  remains. 

Mr.  Heraud,  a  poet  and  journalist,  chiefly  known 
in  this  country  as  the  editor  for  two  years  of  the 
(London)  Monthly  Magazine,  a  disciple,  in  earlier 
years,  of  Coleridge,  and  by  nature  and  taste  contem 
plative  and  inclined  to  a  mystical  philosophy,  was  a 
friend  and  associate  of  Mr.  Greaves ;  and  for  the  last 
years  has  been  more  conspicuous  than  any  other  writer 
in  that  connexion  of  opinion.  The  Monthly  Mag 
azine,  during  his  editorship,  really  was  conducted  in  a 
bolder  and  more  creative  spirit  than  any  other  British 
Journal;  and  though  papers  on  the  highest  transcen 
dental  themes  were  found  in  odd  vicinity  with  the 
lowest  class  of  flash  and  so-called  comic  tales,  yet  a 
necessity,  we  suppose,  of  British  taste  made  these 
strange  bed-fellows  acquainted,  and  Mr.  Heraud  had 
done  what  he  could.  His  papers  called  "  Foreign 
Aids  to  Self  Intelligence,"  were  of  signal  merit,  espe 
cially  the  papers  on  Boehmen  and  Swedenborg.  The 


90  ENGLISH    REFORMERS 

last  is;  we  think,  the  very  first  adequate  attempt  to 
do  justice  to  this  mystic,  by  an  analysis  of  his  total 
works;  and,  though  avowedly  imperfect,  is,  as  far 
as  it  goes,  a  faithful  piece  of  criticism.  We  hope  that 
Mr.  Heraud,  who  announces  a  work  in  three  volumes, 
called  "  Foreign  Aids  to  Self  Intelligence,  designed 
for  an  Historical  Introduction  to  the  Study  of  Onto- 
logical  Science,  preparatory  to  a  Critique  of  Pure 
Being,"  as  now  in  preparation  for  the  press,  and  of 
which,  we  understand,  the  Essays  in  the  Monthly 
Magazine  were  a  part,  will  be  enabled  to  fulfil  his 
design.  Mr.  Heraud  is  described  by  his  friends  as  the 
most  amiable  of  men,  and  a  fluent  and  popular  lec 
turer  on  the  affirmative  philosophy.  He  has  recently 
intimated  a  wish  to  cross  the  Atlantic,  and  read  in 
Bloston  a  course  of  six  lectures,  on  the  subject  of 
Christism  as  distinct  from  Christianity. 

One  of  the  best  contributors  to  Mr.  Heraud's  Mag 
azine  was  Mr.  J.  Westland  Marston.  The  papers 
marked  with  his  initials  are  the  most  eloquent  in  the 
book.  We  have  greatly  regretted  their  discontinu 
ance,  and  have  hailed  him  again  in  his  new  appearance 
as  a  dramatic  author.  Mr.  Marston  is  a  writer  of  sin 
gular  purity  of  taste,  with  a  heart  very  open  to  the 
moral  impulses,  and  in  his  settled  conviction,  like  all 
persons  of  a  high  poetic  nature,  the  friend  of  a  uni 
versal  reform,  beginning  in  education.  His  thought 
on  that  subject  is,  that  "  it  is  only  by  teachers  becom 
ing  men  of  genius,  that  a  nobler  position  can  be  se 
cured  to  them."  At  the  same  time  he  seems  to  share 
that  disgust,  which  men  of  fine  taste  so  quickly  enter 
tain  in  regard  to  the  language  and  methods  of  that 
class  with  which  their  theory  throws  them  into  corre 
spondence,  and  to  be  continually  attracted  through  his 
taste  to  the  manners  and  persons  of  the  aristocracy, 
whose  selfishness  and  frivolity  displease  and  repel  him 


ENGLISH   REFORMERS  91 

again.  Mr.  Marston  has  lately  written  a  Tragedy, 
called  "  The  Patrician's  Daughter,"  which  we  have 
read  with  great  pleasure,  barring  always  the  fatal  pre 
scription,  which  in  England  seems  to  mislead  every 
fine  poet  to  attempt  the  drama.  It  must  be  the  read 
ing  of  tragedies  that  fills  them  with  this  superstition 
for  the  buskin  and  the  pall,  and  not  a  sympathy  with 
existing  nature  and  the  spirit  of  the  age.  The  Patri 
cian's  Daughter  is  modern  in  its  plot  and  characters; 
perfectly  simple  in  its  style;  the  dialogue  is  full  of 
spirit,  and  the  story  extremely  well  told.  We  confess, 
as  we  drew  out  this  bright  pamphlet  from  amid  the 
heap  of  crude  declamation  on  Marriage  and  Educa 
tion,  on  Dietetics  and  Hydropathy,  on  Chartism  and 
Socialism,  grim  tracts  on  flesh-eating  and  dram-drink 
ing,  we  felt  the  glad  refreshment  of  its  sense  and 
melody,  and  thanked  the  fine  office  which  speaks  to 
the  imagination,  and  paints  with  electric  pencil  a  new 
form,  —  new  forms  on  the  lurid  cloud.  Although 
the  vengeance  of  Mordaunt  strikes  us  as  overstrained, 
yet  his  character,  and  the  growth  of  his  fortunes  is 
very  natural,  and  is  familiar  to  English  experience, 
in  the  Thurlows,  Burkes,  Foxes,  and  Cannings.  The 
Lady  Mabel  is  finely  drawn.  Pity  that  the  catastro 
phe  should  be  wrought  by  the  deliberate  lie  of  Lady 
Lydia ;  for  beside  that  lovers,  as  they  of  all  men  speak 
the  most  direct  speech,  easily  pierce  the  cobwebs  of 
fraud,  it  is  a  weak  way  of  making  a  play,  to  hinge 
the  crisis  on  a  lie,  instead  of  letting  it  grow,  as  in  life, 
out  of  the  faults  and  conditions  of  the  parties,  as,  for 
example,  in  Goethe's  Tasso.  On  all  accounts  but  one, 
namely,  the  lapse  of  five  years  between  two  acts,  the 
play  seems  to  be  eminently  fit  for  representation.  Mr. 
Marston  is  also  the  author  of  two  tracts  on  Poetry 
and  Poetic  Culture. 

Another  member  of  this  circle  is  Francis  Barham, 


92  ENGLISH   REFORMERS 

the  dramatic  poet,  author  of  "The  Death  of 
Socrates,"  a  tragedy,  and  other  pieces ;  also  a  contrib 
utor  to  the  Monthly  Magazine.  To  this  gentleman 
we  are  under  special  obligations,  as  he  has  sent  us, 
with  other  pamphlets,  a  manuscript  paper  "  On  Amer 
ican  Literature,"  written  with  such  flowing  good  will, 
and  with  an  aim  so  high,  that  we  must  submit  some 
portion  of  it  to  our  readers. 

"  Intensely  sympathizing,  as  I  have  ever  done,  with 
the  great  community  of  truth-seekers,  I  glory  in  the 
rapid  progress  of  that  Alistic,1  or  divine  literature, 
which  they  develop  and  cultivate.  To  me  this  Alistic 
literature  is  so  catholic  and  universal  that  it  has  spread 
its  energies  and  influences  through  every  age  and  na- 

1  In  explanation  of  this  term,  we  quote  a  few  sentences  from  a 
printed  prospectus  issued  by  Mr.  Barham.  "  The  Alist;  a 
Monthly  Magazine  of  Divinity  and  Universal  Literature.  I  have 
adopted  the  title  of  '  the  Alist,  or  Divine/  for  this  periodical, 
because  the  extension  of  Divinity  and  divine  truth  is  its  main 
object.  It  appears  to  me,  that  by  a  firm  adherence  to  the  TO 
0£iov,  or  divine  principle  of  things,  a  Magazine  may  assume  a 
specific  character,  far  more  elevated,  catholic,  and  attractive, 
than  the  majority  of  periodicals  attain.  This  Magazine  is  there 
fore  specially  written  for  those  persons  who  may,  without  im 
propriety,  be  termed  Alists,  or  Divines;  those  who  endeavor  to 
develop  Divinity  as  the  grand  primary  essence  of  all  existence, 
—  the  element  which  forms  the  all  in  all,  —  the  element  in  which 
we  live,  and  move,  and  have  our  being.  Such  Alists,  (deriving 
their  name  from  Alah  —  the  Hebrew  title  of  God,)  are  Divines 
in  the  highest  sense  of  the  word;  for  they  cultivate  Alism,  or 
the  Divinity  of  Divinities,  as  exhibited  in  all  Scripture  and  na 
ture,  and  they  extend  religious  and  philanthropical  influences 
through  all  churches,  states,  and  systems  of  education.  This 
doctrine  of  Alism,  or  the  life  of  God  in  the  soul  of  man,  affords 
the  only  prothetic  point  of  union,  sufficiently  intense  and  authori 
tative  to  unite  men  in  absolute  catholicity.  In  proportion  as  they 
cultivate  one  and  the  same  God  in  their  minds,  will  their  minds 
necessarily  unite  and  harmonize;  but  without  this  is  done,  per 
manent  harmony  is  impossible." 


ENGLISH   REFORMERS  93 

tion,  in  brighter  or  obscurer  manifestations.  It  forms 
the  intellectual  patrimony  of  the  universe,  delivered 
down  from  kindling  sire  to  kindling  son,  through  all 
nations,  peoples,  and  languages.  Like  the  God  from 
whom  it  springs,  on  whom  it  lives,  and  to  whom  it 
returns,  this  divine  literature  is  ever  young,  ever  old, 
ever  present,  ever  remote.  Like  heaven's  own  sun 
shine,  it  adorns  all  it  touches,  and  it  touches  all.  It  is 
a  perfect  cosmopolite  in  essence  and  in  action;  it  has 
nothing  local  or  limitary  in  its  nature;  it  participates 
the  character  of  the  soul  from  which  it  emanated.  It 
subsists  whole  in  itself,  it  is  its  own  place,  its  own  time, 
nor  seeks  abroad  the  life  it  grants  at  home;  aye,  it  is 
an  eternal  now,  an  eternal  present,  at  once  beginning, 
middle,  and  end  of  every  past  and  every  future. 

"  It  is,  I  conceive,  salutary  for  us  to  take  this  en 
larged  view  of  literature.  We  should  seek  after  liter 
ary  perfection  in  this  cosmopolite  spirit,  and  embrace 
it  wherever  we  find  it,  as  a  divine  gift;  for,  in  the 
words  of  Pope, 

'  both  precepts  and  example  tell 
That  nature's  masterpiece  is  writing  well/ 

"  So  was  it  with  the  august  and  prophetic  Milton. 
To  him  literature  was  a  universal  presence.  He  re 
garded  it  as  the  common  delight  and  glory  of  gods 
and  men.  He  felt  that  its  moral  beauty  lived  and 
flourished  in  the  large  heart  of  humanity  itself,  and 
could  never  be  monopolized  by  times  or  places.  Most 
deeply  do  I  think  and  feel  with  Milton,  when  he  utters 
the  following  words.  *  What  God  may  have  deter 
mined  for  me,  I  know  not;  but  this  I  know,  that  if 
ever  he  instilled  an  intense  love  of  moral  beauty  into 
the  breast  of  any  man,  he  has  instilled  it  into  mine. 
Hence  wherever  I  find  a  man  despising  the  false  esti 
mates  of  the  vulgar,  and  daring  to  aspire  in  senti- 


94  ENGLISH   REFORMERS 

merit  and  language  and  conduct  to  what  the  highest 
wisdom  through  every  age  has  taught  us,  as  most  ex 
cellent,  to  him  I  unite  myself  by  a  kind  of  necessary 
attachment.  And  if  I  am  so  influenced  by  nature,  or 
destiny,  that  by  no  exertions  or  labors  of  my  own  I 
may  exalt  myself  to  this  summit  of  worth  and  honor, 
yet  no  power  in  heaven  or  earth  will  hinder  me  from 
looking  with  reverence  and  affection  upon  those, 
who  have  thoroughly  attained  this  glory,  or  appeared 
engaged  in  the  successful  pursuit  of  it.' ' 

Mr.  Barham  proceeds  to  apply  this  sentiment  as 
analogous  to  his  own  sentiment,  in  respect  to  the 
literatures  of  other  nations,  but  specially  to  that  of 
America. 

'  The  unity  of  language  unites  the  literature  of 
Britain  and  America,  in  an  essential  and  imperishable 
marriage,  which  no  Atlantic  Ocean  can  divide.  Yes ; 
I  as  an  Englishman  say  this,  and  maintain  it.  United 
in  language,  in  literature,  in  interest,  and  in  blood,  I 
regard  the  English  in  England  and  the  English  in 
America  as  one  and  the  same  people,  the  same  magni 
ficent  brotherhood.  The  fact  is  owned  in  the  common 
names  by  which  they  are  noted ;  John  and  Jonathan, 
Angles  and  Yankees,  all  reecho  the  fact." 

Mr.  Barham  proceeds  to  exhibit  the  manifold  rea 
sons  that  enjoin  union  on  the  two  countries,  dep 
recates  the  divisions  that  have  sometimes  suspended 
the  peace,  and  continues : 

"  Let  us  rather  maintain  the  generous  policy  of  Mil 
ton,  and  with  full  acclamation  of  concord  recite  his 
inspiring  words: 

"  '  Go  on  both  hand  in  hand,  O  nations,  never  to  be 
disunited.  Be  the  praise  and  the  heroic  song  of  all 
posterity.  Merit  this,  but  seek  only  virtue,  not  the 
extension  of  your  limits.  For  what  needs  to  win  a 
fading  triumphal  laurel  out  of  the  tears  of  wretched 


ENGLISH    REFORMERS  95 

men,  but  to  settle  the  true  worship  of  God  and  justice 
in  the  commonwealth.  Then  shall  the  hardest  diffi 
culties  smooth  themselves  out  before  you,  envy  shall 
sink  to  hell,  and  craft  and  malice  shall  be  confounded, 
whether  it  be  homebred  mischief  or  outlandish  cun 
ning.  Yea,  other  nations  will  then  covet  to  serve  you ; 
for  lordship  and  victory  are  but  the  pages  of  justice 
and  virtue.  Commit  securely  to  true  wisdom  the 
vanquishing  and  uncaging  of  craft  and  subtlety, 
which  are  but  her  two  runagates.  Join  your  invincible 
might  to  do  worthy  and  godlike  deeds,  and  then  he 
that  seeks  to  break  your  union,  a  cleaving  curse  be  his 
inheritance  throughout  all  generations.' ' 

Mr.  Barham  then  proceeds  to  express  his  convic 
tion,  that  the  specific  character,  which  the  literature 
of  these  countries  should  aim  at,  is  the  Alistic  or  Di 
vine.  It  is  only  by  an  aim  so  high,  that  an  author 
can  reach  any  excellence. 

"  He  builds  too  low  who  builds  beneath  the  skies." 

But  our  limits  forbid  any  more  extracts  from  this 
friendly  manuscript  at  present. 

Another  eminent  member  of  this  circle  is  Mr. 
Charles  Lane,  for  many  years  manager  of  the  Lon 
don  Mercantile  Price  Current;  a  man  of  a  fine  intel 
lectual  nature,  inspired  and  hallowed  by  a  prof  ounder 
faith.  Mr.  Lane  is  the  author  of  some  pieces  marked 
with  his  initials,  in  the  Monthly  Magazine,  and  of 
some  remarkable  tracts.  Those  which  we  have  seen 
are,  "  The  Old,  the  New-Old,  and  the  New;  "  '  Tone 
in  Speech;"  some  papers  in  a  Journal  of  Health; 
and  last  and  best,  a  piece  called  "  The  Third  Dispen 
sation,"  prefixed  by  way  of  preface  to  an  English 
translation  of  Mme.  Gatti  de  Gamond's  "  Phalan- 
sterian,"  a  French  book  of  the  Fourier  School.  In 
this  Essay  Mr.  Lane  considers  that  History  has  ex- 


96  ENGLISH   REFORMERS 

hibited  two  dispensations,  namely,  first,  the  Family 
Union,  or  connexion  by  tribes,  which  soon  appeared 
to  be  a  disunion  or  a  dispersive  principle ;  second,  the 
National  Union.  Both  these,  though  better  than  the 
barbarism  which  they  displaced,  are  themselves  bar 
barism,  in  contrast  with  the  third,  or  Universal 
Union. 

"  As  man  is  the  uniter  in  all  arrangements  which 
stand  below  him,  and  in  which  the  objects  could  not 
unite  themselves,  so  man  needs  a  uniter  above  him, 
to  whom  he  submits,  in  the  certain  incapability  of 
self -union.  This  uniter,  unity,  or  One,  is  the  premon- 
itor  whence  exists  the  premonition  Unity,  which  so 
recurrently  becomes  conscious  in  man.  By  a  neglect 
of  interior  submission,  man  fails  of  this  antecedent, 
Unity;  and  as  a  consequence  his  attempts  at  union 
by  exterior  mastery  have  no  success."  Certain  condi 
tions  are  necessary  to  this,  namely,  the  external  ar 
rangements  indispensable  for  the  evolution  of  the 
Uniting  Spirit  can  alone  be  provided  by  the  Uniting 
Spirit. 

"  We  seem  to  be  in  an  endless  circle,  of  which  both 
halves  have  lost  their  centre  connexion;  for  it  is  an 
operation  no  less  difficult  than  the  junction  of  two 
such  discs  that  is  requisite  to  unity.  These  segments 
also  being  in  motion,  each  upon  a  false  centre  of  its 
own,  the  obstacles  to  union  are  incalculably  multi 
plied. 

'  The  spiritual  or  theoretic  world  in  man  revolves 
upon  one  set  of  principles,  and  the  practical  or  ac 
tual  world  upon  another.  In  ideality  man  recognises 
the  purest  truths,  the  highest  notions  of  justice ;- 
in  actuality  he  departs  from  all  these,  and  his  entire 
career  is  confessedly  a  life  of  self -falseness  and  clever 
injustice.  This  barren  ideality,  and  this  actuality  re 
plete  with  bitter  fruits,  are  the  two  hemispheres  to  be 


ENGLISH   REFORMERS  97 

united  for  their  mutual  completion,  and  their  com 
mon  central  point  is  the  reality  antecedent  to  them 
both.  This  point  is  not  to  be  discovered  by  the  rub 
bing  of  these  two  half  globes  together,  by  their  curved 
sides,  nor  even  as  a  school  boy  would  attempt  to  unite 
his  severed  marble  by  the  flat  sides.  The  circle  must 
be  drawn  anew  from  reality  as  a  central  point,  the  new 
radius  embracing  equally  the  new  ideality  and  the  new 
actuality. 

"  With  this  newness  of  love  in  men  there  would 
resplendently  shine  forth  in  them  a  newness  of  light, 
and  a  newness  of  life,  charming  the  steadiest  be 
holder."  —  Introduction,  p.  4. 

The  remedy,  which  Mr.  Lane  proposes  for  the  exist 
ing  evils,  is  his  "  True  Harmonic  Association."  But 
he  more  justly  confides  in  "  ceasing  from  doing  " 
than  in  exhausting  efforts  at  inadequate  remedies. 
"  From  medicine  to  medicine  is  a  change  from  disease 
to  disease ;  and  man  must  cease  from  self -activity,  ere 
the  spirit  can  fill  him  with  truth  in  mind  or  health  in 
body.  The  Civilization  is  become  intensely  false,  and 
thrusts  the  human  being  into  false  predicaments.  The 
antagonism  of  business  to  all  that  is  high  and  good 
and  generic  is  hourly  declared  by  the  successful,  as 
well  as  by  the  failing.  The  mercantile  system,  based 
on  individual  aggrandizement,  draws  men  from  unity; 
its  swelling  columns  of  figures  describe,  in  pounds, 
shillings,  and  pence,  the  degrees  of  man's  departure 
from  love,  from  wisdom,  from  power.  The  idle  are 
as  unhappy  as  the  busy.  Whether  the  dread  factory- 
bell,  or  the  fox-hunter's  horn  calls  to  a  pursuit  more 
fatal  to  man's  best  interests,  is  an  inquiry  which  ap 
pears  more  likely  to  terminate  in  the  cessation  of  both, 
than  in  a  preference  of  either." 

Mr.  Lane  does  not  confound  society  with  sociable- 
ness.  "  On  the  contrary,  it  is  when  the  sympathy 


98  ENGLISH    REFORMERS 

with  man  is  the  stronger  and  the  truer,  that  the  sym 
pathy  with  men  grows  weaker,  and  the  sympathy  with 
their  actions  weakest." 

We  must  content  ourselves  with  these  few  sentences 
from  Mr.  Lane's  book,  but  we  shall  shortly  hear  from 
him  again.  This  is  no  man  of  letters,  but  a  man  of 
ideas.  Deep  opens  below  deep  in  his  thought,  and  for 
the  solution  of  each  new  problem  he  recurs,  with  new 
success,  to  the  highest  truth,  to  that  which  is  most 
generous,  most  simple,  and  most  powerful;  to  that 
which  cannot  be  comprehended,  or  overseen,  or  ex 
hausted.  His  words  come  to  us  like  the  voices  of 
home  out  of  a  far  country. 

With  Mr.  Lane  is  associated  in  the  editorship  of  a 
monthly  tract,  called  "  The  Healthian,"  and  in  other 
kindred  enterprises,  Mr.  Henry  G.  Wright,  who  is 
the  teacher  of  the  School  at  Ham  Common,  near 
Richmond,  and  the  author  of  several  tracts  on  moral 
and  social  topics. 

This  school  is  founded  on  a  faith  in  the  presence  of 
the  Divine  Spirit  in  man.  The  teachers  say,  "  that 
in  their  first  experiments  they  found  they  had  to  deal 
with  a  higher  nature  than  the  mere  mechanical.  They 
found  themselves  in  contact  with  an  essence  indefi 
nably  delicate.  The  great  difficulty  with  relation  to 
the  children,  with  which  they  were  first  called  to 
wrestle,  was  an  unwillingness  to  admit  access  to  their 
spiritual  natures.  The  teachers  felt  this  keenly. 
They  sought  for  the  cause.  They  found  it  in  their 
own  hearts.  Pure  spirit  would  not,  could  not  hold 
communion  with  their  corrupted  modes.  These  must 
be  surrendered,  and  love  substituted  in  lieu  of  them. 
The  experience  was  soon  made  that  the  primal  duty 
of  the  educator  is  entire  self -surrender  to  love.  Not 
partial,  not  of  the  individual,  but  pure,  unlimited,  uni 
versal.  It  is  impossible  to  speak  to  natures  deeper 


ENGLISH    REFORMERS  99 

than  those  from  which  you  speak.  Reason  cries  to 
Reason,  Love  to  Love.  Hence  the  personal  elevation 
of  the  teacher  is  of  supreme  importance."  Mr.  Al- 
cott,  who  may  easily  be  a  little  partial  to  an  instructor 
who  has  adopted  cordially  his  own  methods,  writes 
thus  of  his  friend. 

"  Mr.  Wright  is  a  younger  disciple  of  the  same 
eternal  verity,  which  I  have  loved  and  served  so  long. 
You  have  never  seen  his  like,  so  deep  serene,  so  clear, 
so  true,  and  so  good.  His  school  is  a  most  refreshing 
and  happy  place.  The  children  are  mostly  under 
twelve  years  of  age,  of  both  sexes;  and  his  art  and 
method  of  education  simple  and  natural.  It  seemed 
like  being  again  in  my  own  school,  save  that  a  wiser 
wisdom  directs,  and  a  lovelier  love  presides  over  its 
order  and  teachings.  He  is  not  yet  thirty  years  of 
age,  but  he  has  more  genius  for  education  than  any 
man  I  have  seen,  and  not  of  children  alone,  but  he 
possesses  the  rare  art  of  teaching  men  and  women. 
What  I  have  dreamed,  and  stammered,  and  preached, 
and  prayed  about  so  long,  is  in  him  clear  and  definite. 
It  is  life,  influence,  reality.  I  flatter  myself  that  I 
shall  bring  him  with  me  on  my  return.  He  cherishes 
hopes  of  making  our  land  the  place  of  his  experi 
ment  on  human  culture,  and  of  proving  to  others 
the  worth  of  the  divine  idea  that  now  fills  and  exalts 
him." 

In  consequence  of  Mr.  Greaves's  persuasion,  which 
seems  to  be  shared  by  his  friends,  that  the  special 
remedy  for  the  evils  of  society  at  the  present  moment 
is  association;  perhaps  from  a  more  universal  tend 
ency,  which  has  drawn  in  many  of  the  best  minds  in 
this  countiy  also  to  accuse  the  idealism,  which  contents 
itself  with  the  history  of  the  private  mind,  and  to  de 
mand  of  every  thinker  the  warmest  dedication  to  the 
race,  this  class  of  which  we  speak  are  obviously  in- 


100  ENGLISH   REFORMERS 

clined  to  favor  the  plans  of  the  Socialists.  They  ap 
pear  to  be  in  active  literary  and  practical  connexion 
with  Mr.  Doherty,  the  intelligent  and  catholic  editor 
of  the  London  Phalanx,  who  is  described  to  us  as 
having  been  a  personal  friend  of  Fourier,  and  himself 
a  man  of  sanguine  temper,  but  a  friend  of  temperate 
measures,  and  willing  to  carry  his  points  with  wise 
moderation,  on  one  side ;  and  in  friendly  relations  with 
Robert  Owen,  "  the  philanthropist,  '  who  writes  in 
brick  and  clay,  in  gardens  and  green  fields,'  who  is  a 
believer  in  the  comforts  and  humanities  of  life,  and 
would  give  these  in  abundance  to  all  men,"  although 
they  are  widely  distinguished  from  this  last  in  their 
devout  spiritualism.  Many  of  the  papers  on  our  table 
contain  schemes  and  hints  for  a  better  social  organiza 
tion,  especially  the  plan  of  what  they  call  "  a  Con- 
cordium,  or  a  Primitive  Home,  which  is  about  to 
be  commenced  by  united  individuals,  who  are  desirous, 
under  industrial  and  progressive  education,  with  sim 
plicity  in  diet,  dress,  lodging,  &c.,  to  retain  the  means 
for  the  harmonic  development  of  their  physical,  intel 
lectual,  and  moral  natures."  The  institution  is  to  be 
in  the  country,  the  inmates  are  to  be  of  both  sexes, 
they  are  to  labor  on  the  land,  their  drink  is  to  be  water, 
and  their  food  chiefly  uncooked  by  fire,  and  the  habits 
of  the  members  throughout  of  the  same  simplicity. 
Their  unity  is  to  be  based  on  their  education  in  a 
religious  love,  which  subordinates  all  persons,  and 
perpetually  invokes  the  presence  of  the  spirit  in  every 
transaction.  It  is  through  this  tendency  that  these 
gentlemen  have  been  drawn  into  fellowship  with  a 
humbler,  but  far  larger  class  of  their  countrymen,  of 
whom  Goodwyn  Barmby  may  stand  for  the  repre 
sentative. 

Mr.  Barmby  is  the  editor  of  a  penny  magazine, 
called  "  The  Promethean,  or  Communitarian  Apos- 


ENGLISH   REFORMERS  101 

tie,"  published  monthly,  and,  as  the  covers  inform 
us,  "  the  cheapest  of  all  magazines,  and  the  paper  the 
most  devoted  of  any  to  the  cause  of  the  people;  con 
secrated  to  Pantheism  in  Religion,  and  Communism 
in  Politics."  Mr.  Barmby  is  a  sort  of  Camille  Des- 
moulins  of  British  Revolution,  a  radical  poet,  with 
too  little  fear  of  grammar  and  rhetoric  before  his 
eyes,  with  as  little  fear  of  the  Church  or  the  State, 
writing  often  with  as  much  fire,  though  not  with  as 
much  correctness,  as  Ebenezer  Elliott.  He  is  the 
author  of  a  poem  called  "  The  European  Pariah," 
which  will  compare  favorably  with  the  Corn-law 
Rhymes.  His  paper  is  of  great  interest,  as  it  details 
the  conventions,  the  counsels,  the  measures  of  Barmby 
and  his  friends,  for  the  organization  of  a  new  order 
of  things,  totally  at  war  with  the  establishment.  Its 
importance  arises  from  the  fact,  that  it  comes  ob 
viously  from  the  heart  of  the  people.  It  is  a  cry  of 
the  miner  and  weaver  for  bread,  for  daylight,  and 
fresh  air,  for  space  to  exist  in,  and  time  to  catch  their 
breath  and  rest  themselves  in;  a  demand  for  political 
suffrage,  and  the  power  to  tax  as  a  counterpart  to  the 
liability  of  being  taxed;  a  demand  for  leisure,  for 
learning,  for  arts  and  sciences,  for  the  higher  social 
enjoyments.  It  is  one  of  a  cloud  of  pamphlets  in  the 
same  temper  and  from  the  same  quarter,  which  show 
a  wholly  new  state  of  feeling  in  the  body  of  the  British 
people.  In  a  time  of  distress  among  the  manufactur 
ing  classes,  severe  beyond  any  precedent,  when,  ac 
cording  to  the  statements  vouched  by  Lord  Brougham 
in  the  House  of  Peers,  and  Mr.  O'Connell  and  others 
in  the  Commons,  wages  are  reduced  in  some  of  the 
manufacturing  villages  to  six  pence  a  week,  so  that 
men  are  forced  to  sustain  themselves  and  their  fam 
ilies  at  less  than  a  penny  a  day;  when  the  most 
revolting  expedients  are  resorted  to  for  food;  when 


102  ENGLISH   REFORMERS 

families  attempt  by  a  recumbent  posture  to  diminish 
the  pangs  of  hunger ;  in  the  midst  of  this  exasperation 
the  voice  of  the  people  is  temperate  and  wise  beyond 
all  former  example.  They  are  intent  on  personal  as 
well  as  on  national  reforms.  Jack  Cade  leaves  be 
hind  him  his  bludgeon  and  torch,  and  is  grown  ami 
able,  literary,  philosophical,  and  mystical.  He  reads 
Fourier,  he  reads  Shelley,  he  reads  Milton.  He  goes 
for  temperance,  for  non-resistance,  for  education,  and 
for  the  love-marriage,  with  the  two  poets  above 
named;  and  for  association,  after  the  doctrines  either 
of  Owen  or  of  Fourier.  One  of  the  most  remarkable 
of  the  tracts  before  us  is  "  A  Plan  for  the  Education 
and  Improvement  of  the  People,  addressed  to  the 
Working-Classes  of  the  United  Kingdom ;  written  in 
Warwick  Gaol,  by  William  Lovett,  cabinet-maker, 
and  John  Collins,  tool-maker,"  which  is  a  calm,  intelli 
gent,  and  earnest  plea  for  a  new  organization  of  the 
people,  for  the  highest  social  and  personal  benefits, 
urging  the  claims  of  general  education,  of  the  Infant 
School,  the  Normal  School,  and  so  forth;  announcing 
rights,  but  with  equal  emphasis  admitting  duties. 
And  Mr.  Barmby,  whilst  he  attacks  with  great  spirit 
and  great  contempt  the  conventions  of  society,  is  a 
worshipper  of  love  and  of  beauty,  and  vindicates  the 
arts.  "  The  apostleship  of  veritable  doctrine,"  he 
say's,  "  in  the  fine  arts  is  a  really  religious  Apostolate, 
as  the  fine  arts  in  their  perfect  manifestation  tend  to 
make  mankind  virtuous  and  happy." 

It  will  give  the  reader  some  precise  information  of 
the  views  of  the  most  devout  and  intelligent  persons 
in  the  company  we  have  described,  if  we  add  an  ac 
count  of  a  public  conversation  which  occurred  during 
the  last  summer.  In  the  (London)  Morning 
Chronicle,  of  5  July,  we  find  the  following  advertise 
ment.  "  Public  Invitation.  An  open  meeting  of  the 


ENGLISH   REFORMERS  103 

friends  to  human  progress  will  be  held  to-morrow, 
July  6,  at  Mr.  Wright's  Alcott-House  School,  Ham 
Common,  near  Richmond,  Surrey,  for  the  purpose  of 
considering  and  adopting  means  for  the  promotion  of 
the  great  end,  when  all  who  are  interested  in  human 
destiny  are  earnestly  urged  to  attend.  The  chair 
taken  at  Three  o'clock  and  again  at  Seven,  by  A. 
Bronson  Alcott,  Esq.,  now  on  a  visit  from  America. 
Omnibuses  travel  to  and  fro,  and  the  Richmond 
steam-boat  reaches  at  a  convenient  hour." 

Of  this  conference  a  private  correspondent  has  fur 
nished  us  with  the  following  report. 

A  very  pleasant  day  to  us  was  Wednesday,  the 
sixth  of  July.  On  that  day  an  open  meeting  was  held 
at  Mr.  Wright's  Alcott-House  School,  Ham,  Surrey, 
to  define  the  aims  and  initiate  the  means  of  human 
culture.  There  were  some  sixteen  or  twenty  of  us 
assembled  on  the  lawn  at  the  back  of  the  house.  We 
came  from  many  places;  one  150  miles ;  another  a  hun 
dred;  others  from  various  distances;  and  our  brother 
Bronson  Alcott  from  Concord,  North  America,  We 
found  it  not  easy  to  propose  a  question  sufficiently 
comprehensive  to  unfold  the  whole  of  the  fact  with 
which  our  bosoms  labored.  We  aimed  at  nothing 
less  than  to  speak  of  the  instauration  of  Spirit  and  its 
incarnation  in  a  beautiful  form.  We  had  no  chair 
man,  and  needed  none.  We  came  not  to  dispute,  but 
to  hear  and  to  speak.  And  when  a  word  failed  in  ex 
tent  of  meaning,  we  loaded  the  word  with  new  mean 
ing.  The  word  did  not  confine  our  experience,  but 
from  our  own  being  we  gave  significance  to  the  word. 
Into  one  body  we  infused  many  lives,  and  it  shone  as 
the  image  of  divine  or  angelic  or  human  thought.  For 
a  word  is  a  Proteus  that  means  to  a  man  what  the  man 
is.  Three  papers  were  successively  presented. 


104  ENGLISH   REFORMERS 

I.     REFORMATION 
"  Old  things  shall  pass  away." 

That  an  integral  reform  will  comprise,  not  only  an 
amendment  in  our  (1)  Corn  Laws,  (2)  Monetary 
Arrangements,  (3)  Penal  Code,  (4)  Education,  (5) 
the  Church,  (6)  the  Law  of  Primogeniture,  (7) 
Divorce;  but  will  extend  to  questions  yet  publicly 
unmooted,  or  unfavorably  regarded,  such  as  (1)  that 
of  a  reliance  on  Commercial  Prosperity,  (2)  a  belief 
in  the  value  of  the  purest  conceivable  Representa 
tive  Legislature,  (3)  the  right  of  man  to  inflict  Pain 
on  man,  (4)  the  demand  for  a  purer  Generation  in 
preference  to  a  better  Education,  (5)  the  reign  of 
Love  in  Man  instead  of  human  Opinions,  (6)  the 
restoration  of  all  things  to  their  primitive  Owner,  and 
hence  the  abrogation  of  Property,  either  individual 
or  collective,  and  (7)  the  Divine  Sanction,  instead  of 
the  Civil  and  Ecclesiastical  authority,  for  Mar 
riage. 

That  the  obstacles  encountered,  in  any  endeavor  to 
secure  the  smallest  proposed  public  reform,  are  not 
to  be  taken  as  a  measure  for  the  difficulties  in  reali 
zing  those  of  a  deeper  character,  as  above  enumer 
ated;  for  as  the  latter  are  more  vital  and  real,  so  are 
they  less  dependent  on  public  concurrence,  and  need 
rather  an  individual  practice  than  an  associative  ap 
peal. 

That  while  the  benevolent  mind  perceives  and  de 
sires  the  entire  reform  which  should  be  accomplished, 
the  practical  reformer  will  bound  his  aims  by  that 
which  is  possible  at  the  moment;  for  while  a  twenty 
years'  agitation  is  insufficient  to  procure  the  slightest 
modification  in  the  Corn  Laws,  of  little  value  when 


ENGLISH   REFORMERS  105 

attained,  and  fifty  years'  advocacy  shall  not  accom 
plish  a  reform  in  parliament,  declared  worthless  and 
delusive  as  soon  as  it  is  conceded,  the  abiding,  and 
real,  and  happy  reforms  are  much  more  within  our 
own  power,  at  the  same  time  that  their  value  is,  under 
every  consideration,  undoubted. 

That  however  extensive,  grand,  or  noble  may  be 
the  ultimate  measures  proposed,  it  is  thus  the  impera 
tive  duty  of  the  sincere  reformer  at  once  to  commence 
that  course  of  conduct,  which  must  not  less  conduce  to 
his  own  than  to  the  universal  good. 

That  a  reform  in  the  relation  of  master  and  serv 
ant,  in  faith  in  money,  in  deference  to  wealth,  in  diet, 
habits  of  life,  modes  of  intercourse,  and  other  particu 
lars,  almost  or  entirely  under  the  control  of  each  indi 
vidual,  is  the  first  series  of  practical  measures  to  be 
adopted,  at  once  the  proof  of  sincerity,  and  the  ear 
nest  of  future  success. 

That  a  personal  reform  of  this  kind,  humble  as  it 
may  appear,  is  obviously  the  key  to  every  future  and 
wider  good.  By  reformed  individuals  only  can  re 
formed  laws  be  enacted,  or  reformed  plans  effected. 
By  him  alone,  who  is  reformed  and  well  regulated, 
can  the  appeal  fairly  be  made  to  others,  either  pri 
vately  or  publicly,  to  submit  to  a  superior  rule.  By 
such  as  have  themselves  become  somewhat  puri 
fied  must  the  purer  life  and  measures  be  indicated. 
The  greatest  Apostle  of  Reform  is  the  most  re 
formed. 

The  speaker  added  as  a  comment  on  this  paper, 
Human  institutions  and  human  habits  are  but  the 
histories  of  men's  natures,  and  have  in  all  times  dis 
closed  the  heaven-wandering  attributes  of  their  pro 
jectors.  At  present,  institutions  are  extremely  com 
plex,  and  so  wreathed  together,  that  one  reform  com- 


106  ENGLISH   REFORMERS 

pels  a  hundred,  and  of  course  every  attempt  to  re 
form  in  one  part  is  resisted  by  the  establishment  in 
all  parts.  But  the  divine  thought  permits  us  not  to 
remain  in  quietude.  That,  which  we  are  not,  rises 
before  us,  as  that,  which  we  are  to  be.  Our  aspira 
tions  are  the  pledge  of  their  own  fulfilment.  Hope 
drives  forward  with  the  speed  of  wind,  and  affirms 
that  the  unallowable  of  to-day  shall  be  to-morrow 
within  our  reach ;  if  that  which  is  to-day  only  attain 
able  shall  to-morrow  be  a  realized  fact. 

Beneath  the  actual  which  a  man  is,  there  is  always 
covered  a  possible  to  tempt  him  forward,  and  beneath 
that  an  impossible.  Beneath  sense  lie  reason  and  un 
derstanding;  beneath  them  both,  humility;  and  be 
neath  all,  God.  To  be  Godlike,  we  must  pass  through 
the  grades  of  progress.  We  may  make  the  experi 
ences  of  the  rational  the  humane  life,  and  at  last  the 
life  of  God.  But  our  precessions  are  not  so  much  of 
time  as  of  being.  Even  now  the  God-life  is  enfolded 
in  us,  even  now  the  streams  of  eternity  course  freely 
in  our  central  heart.  If  impelled  by  the  spirit  to  in 
termingle  with  the  arrangements  of  polities  of  the 
world  in  order  to  improve  them,  we  shall  discover  the 
high  point,  from  which  we  begin  by  the  God- 
thought,  in  our  interference.  Our  act  must  be  divine. 
We  seem  to  do;  God  does.  God  empowers  legisla 
tors,  and  ennobles  them  for  their  fidelity.  Let  them, 
however,  be  apostles,  not  apostles'  representatives; 
men  of  God,  not  men  of  men.  Personal  elevation  is 
our  credentials.  Personal  reform  is  that  which  is 
practicable,  and  without  it  our  efforts  on  behalf  of 
others  are  dreams  only. 

After  this  had  been  considered  and  approved, 
another  of  our  friends  offered  the  following  scrip 
ture. 


ENGLISH   REFORMERS  107 

II.     TRANSITION 
"  Bring  no  more  vain  oblations." 

As  men  sincerely  desirous  of  being  that  which  we 
have  conceived  in  idea,  earnestly  longing  to  assert 
the  transcendency  of  divine  humanity  over  all  creeds, 
sayings,  and  theories,  the  question  occurred  to  us, 
"  How  shall  we  find  bread  for  the  support  of  our 
bodies?  "  We  proposed  reducing  our  wants  to  na 
ture's  simplest  needs;  but  on  due  consideration,  we 
perceived  that  the  restrictions  on  food  precluded  our 
obtaining  it,  and  we  learned  with  dismay  that  the 
spirit,  which  monopolizes  bread  and  other  constit 
uents  of  life,  denounced  from  the  bosom  of  society, 
*  You  shall  not  live  a  conscientious  life." 

Not  abashed,  however,  by  this  decree,  we  resolved 
to  press  our  investigations,  and  we  asked  who  had 
uttered  this  practical  blasphemy  in  the  face  of  high 
heaven?  And  all  voices  answered,  that  "  the  men 
trusting  in  property  had  done  it."  We  took  up  this 
question  of  property,  and  asked,  "  By  what  tenure 
is  it  held?"  And  society  answered,  "  On  the  tenure 
of  might  and  immemorial  custom."  But  when  we 
interrogated  our  own  hearts,  and  asked,  "  Did  Di 
vinity  ever  thus  sanction  possession? "  our  hearts,  in 
deed,  answered  not ;  but  the  God  within  spoke  plainly, 
that "  Pure  Love,  which  is  ever  communicative ;  never 
yet  conceded  to  any  being  the  right  of  appropriation." 
But  when  society  urged  further,  that  government  had 
legitimated  possession,  we  began  to  inquire  on  what 
authority  government  itself  rested.  And  the  govern 
ment's  answer  was  immediately  proffered,  "  We  pro 
tect  the  rights  of  property,  and  devise  means  for  the 
accumulation  of  more.  We  shield  the  good  from  ad- 


108  ENGLISH   REFORMERS 

versities,  and  we  punish  the  evil-doers."  Is  this  true? 
we  thought.  .  .  .  No;  government  had  not  redeemed 
its  promise  to  us,  and  we  would  no  longer  care  for 
its  provisions.  The  first  law,  too,  of  Heaven  is  Love, 
and  government  is  founded  on  force.  We  were  not 
believers  in  force;  we  believed  that  moral  majesty 
was  far  more  protection  to  man  than  the  shield  of  a 
mighty  empire ;  —  we  believed  that  a  man  encased  in 
his  own  humanity  was  more  secure,  than  he  who  was 
protected  by  a  thousand  bayonets.  Our  faith  was  in 
moral  uprightness,  and  not  in  the  prowess  of  armies, 
We  would  be  established  in  love,  and  not  in  fear;  and 
government  is,  in  all  these  respects,  infidel  to  the 
good.  We  asked,  "  Whether  domination  was  of 
God?"  and  God  answered,  "No." 

But  we  thought  that  the  religious  institute  would 
do  something  for  humanity,  that  the  priest  would  suc 
cor  the  oppressed,  and  loose  the  burdens  of  the  heavy 
laden.  But  the  priest  told  us,  he  too  loved,  above  all 
things,  domination  and  homage.  .  .  .  He  laughed  at 
human  perfectibility.  He  declared,  that  loyalty  to 
the  prince,  and  pecuniary  reverence  to  the  church, 
were  his  only  hope  of  salvation. 

We,  therefore,  ignore  human  governments,  creeds, 
and  institutions;  we  deny  the  right  of  any  man  to 
dictate  laws  for  our  regulation,  or  duties  for  our  per 
formance  ;  and  declare  our  allegiance  only  to  Univer 
sal  Love,  the  all-embracing  Justice. 

In  addition  to  this  statement  of  his  thought  the 
second  speaker  asked,  Why  does  a  man  need  an  out 
ward  law?  Simply  because  the  law  of  love  has  been 
hidden.  Men,  are  they  not  bankers  and  capitalists, 
whose  Bank  and  Capital  is  God?  Why  should  they 
borrow  of  men?  Why  should  the  all-wealthy  seek 
the  substitutes  of  riches?  If  we  assert  our  manhood, 


ENGLISH   REFORMERS  109 

what  do  we  need  of  learning,  precedent,  or  govern 
ment?  Let  the  impoverished  seek  for  notes  of  hand; 
let  the  timid  and  lawless  ask  protection  of  the  arm 
of  power.  Let  the  foolish  still  dream,  that  the  vanity 
of  book-miners  will  be  their  wisdom  for  us,  we  claim 
wealth,  love,  and  wisdom,  as  essential  informations 
of  the  Divinity.  Besides,  human  institutions  bear  no 
fruit.  If  you  plant  them,  they  will  yield  nothing. 
Prohibitions  and  commands  stand  for  nothing. 
'  Thou  shalt  not  kill,"  which  is  a  history  recording  to 
sense  what  the  divine  law  of  purity  suggests  in  every 
unperverted  heart,  is  held  binding  by  none.  What 
shall  I  not  kill?  asks  the  butcher,  the  poulterer,  the 
fishmonger,  and  he  answers,  All  things  in  which  I  do 
not  trade.  And  what  shall  the  soldier  not  kill?  All 
men,  except  his  enemies.  These  exceptions  make  the 
law  nugatory.  The  command  is  universal  only  for 
the  pure  soul,  that  neither  stabs  nor  strangles.  The 
laws  of  men  inculcate  and  command  slaughter.  Nor 
will  they  exculpate  rebellion  on  the  ground,  that  holi 
ness  has  rendered  obedience  impossible.  But  we  must 
ignore  laws  which  ignore  holiness.  Our  trust  is  in 
purity,  not  in  vengeance. 

A  third  person  had  written  down  his  thought  as 
follows. 

III.     FORMATION 
"  Behold  I  make  all  things  new." 

That  in  order  to  attain  the  highest  excellence  of 
which  man  is  capable,  not  only  is  a  searching  Reform 
necessary  in  the  existing  order  of  men  and  things,  but 
the  Generation  of  a  new  race  of  persons  is  demanded, 
who  shall  project  institutions  and  initiate  conditions 


110  ENGLISH    REFORMERS 

altogether  original,  and  commensurate  with  the  being 
and  wants  of  humanity. 

That  the  germs  of  this  new  generation  are  even 
now  discoverable  in  human  beings,  but  have  been 
hitherto  either  choked  by  ungenial  circumstances,  or, 
having  borne  fruit  prematurely  or  imperfectly,  have 
attained  no  abiding  growth. 

That  the  elements  for  a  superior  germination  con 
sist  in  an  innocent  fertile  mind,  and  a  chaste  health 
ful  body,  built  up  from  the  purest  and  most  volatile 
productions  of  the  uncontaminated  earth;  thus  re 
moving  all  hinderances  to  the  immediate  influx  of 
Deity  into  the  spiritual  faculties  and  corporeal  organs. 
Hence  the  tine  Generator's  attention  will  be  drawn 
to  whatsoever  pertains  to  the  following  constituents 
of  Man  and  of  Society:  — 

Primarily,  Marriage  and  the  Family  Life,  in 
cluding  of  course,  the  Breeding  and  Education  of 
Children. 

Secondly,  Housewifery  and  Husbandry. 

Thirdly,  The  relations  of  the  Neighborhood. 

Fourthly,  Man's  relation  to  the  Creator. 

It  is  obvious,  that  society,  as  at  present  constituted, 
invades  all  and  every  one  of  these  relations ;  and  it  is, 
therefore,  proposed  to  select  a  spot  whereon  the  new 
Eden  may  be  planted,  and  man  may,  untempted  by 
evil,  dwell  in  harmony  with  his  Creator,  with  himself, 
his  fellows,  and  with  all  external  natures. 

On  a  survey  of  the  present  civilized  world,  Provi 
dence  seems  to  have  ordained  the  United  States  of 
America,  more  especially  New  England,  as  the  field 
wherein  this  idea  is  to  be  realized  in  actual  experience ; 
and,  trusting  in  the  faith  which  inspires,  the  hope 
which  ensures,  and  the  power  which  enacts,  a  few 
persons,  both  in  the  new  country  and  the  old,  are 
uniting  their  efforts  to  secure,  at  the  earliest  possible 


ENGLISH   REFORMERS  111 

moment,  and  by  the  simplest  possible  means,  a  con 
summation  so  sublime,  so  humane,  so  divine. 

After  reading  this  paper,  he  added  words  to  this 
effect.  Reformation  belongs  not  to  us,  it  is  but  a 
chimera.  We  propose  not  to  make  new  combinations 
of  old  substances,  the  elements  themselves  shall  be 
new.  The  great  enigma,  to  solve  which  man  has  ever 
labored,  is  answered  in  the  one  fact,  Birth.  The  dis 
ciplines,  the  loves,  the  wishes,  the  sorrows,  the  joys, 
the  travail  of  many  years,  are  crowded  into  concep 
tion,  gestation,  and  Birth.  If  you  ask  where  evil  com 
mences,  the  answer  is,  in  Birth.  If  you  ask  what  is 
the  unpardonable  sin,  the  answer  is  an  unholy  birth. 
The  most  sacred,  the  most  profane,  the  most  solemn, 
the  most  irreverent,  the  most  godlike,  yet  possibly 
the  most  brutal  of  acts.  This  one  stands  as  a  centre 
to  all  extremes,  it  is  the  point  on  which  God  and  Devil 
wage  most  irreconcilable  warfare.  Let  Birth  be  sur 
rendered  to  the  spirit,  and  the  results  shall  be  blessed. 

Together  with  pure  beings  will  come  pure  habits. 
A  better  body  shall  be  built  up  from  the  orchard  and 
the  garden.  The  outward  frame  shall  beam  with 
soul;  it  shall  be  a  vital  fact  in  which  is  typically  un 
folded  the  whole  of  perfectness.  As  he  who  seizes 
on  civil  liberty  with  the  hand  of  violence  would  act 
the  tyrant,  if  power  were  entrusted  to  him,  so  he 
whose  food  is  obtained  by  force  or  fraud  would  ac 
complish  other  purposes  by  similarly  ignoble  means. 
Tyranny  and  domination  must  be  overcome,  when 
they  first  take  root  in  the  lust  of  unhallowed  things. 
From  the  fountain  we  will  stake  our  thirst,  and  our 
appetite  shall  find  supply  in  the  delicious  abundance 
that  Pomona  offers.  Flesh  and  blood  we  will  reject 
as  "  the  accursed  thing."  A  pure  mind  has  no  faith 
in  them. 


112  ENGLISH    REFORMERS 

An  unvitiated  generation  and  more  genial  habits 
shall  restore  the  Eden  on  Earth,  and  men  shall  again 
find  that  paradise  is  not  merely  a  fable  of  the  poets. 

Such  was  the  current  of  our  thought;  and  most 
of  those  who  were  present  felt  delight  in  the  con 
versations  that  followed.  Said  I  not  well,  that  it  was 
a  happy  day?  For  though  talk  is  never  more  than 
a  portraiture  of  a  fact,  it  may  be,  and  ours  was,  the 
delineation  of  a  fact  based  in  the  being  of  God. 


THE    DEATH    OF    DR.    CHANNING 

JANUARY,    1843 

THE  death  of  Dr.  Charming  at  Bennington  in 
Vermont,  on  the  2d  October,  is  an  event  of  great  note 
to  the  whole  country.  The  great  loss  of  the  com 
munity  is  mitigated  by  the  new  interest  which  intel 
lectual  power  always  acquires  by  the  death  of  the 
possessor.  Dr.  Channing  was  a  man  of  so  much  rec 
titude,  and  such  power  to  express  his  sense  of  right, 
that  his  value  to  this  country,  of  which  he  was  a  kind 
of  public  Conscience,  can  hardly  be  overestimated. 
Not  only  his  merits,  but  his  limitations  also,  which 
made  all  his  virtues  and  talents  intelligible  and  avail 
able  for  the  correction  and  elevation  of  society,  made 
our  Cato  dear,  and  his  loss  not  to  be  repaired.  His 
interest  in  the  times,  and  the  fidelity  and  independ 
ence,  with  which,  for  so  many  years,  he  had  exer 
cised  that  censorship  on  commercial,  political,  and 
literary  morals,  which  was  the  spontaneous  dictate 
of  his  character,  Had  earned  for  him  an  accumulated 
capital  of  veneration,  which  caused  his  opinion  to  be 
waited  for  in  each  emergency,  as  that  of  the  wisest 
and  most  upright  of  judges.  We  shall  probably  soon 
have  an  opportunity  to  give  an  extended  account  of 
his  character  and  genius.  In  most  parts  of  this 
country  notice  has  been  taken  of  this  event,  and  in 
London  also.  Beside  the  published  discourses  of 
Messrs.  Gannett,  Hedge,  Clarke,  Parker,  Pierpont, 
and  Bellows,  Mr.  Bancroft  made  Dr.  Channing's 
genius  the  topic  of  a  just  tribute  in  a  lecture  before 

113 


114       DEATH    OF    DR.    CHAINING 

the  Diffusion  Society  at  the  Masonic  Temple.  We 
regret  that  the  city  has  not  yet  felt  the  propriety 
of  paying  a  public  honor  to  the  memory  of  one  of 
the  truest  and  noblest  of  its  citizens. 


TANTALUS 

JANUARY,    1844 

THE  astronomers  said,  Give  us  matter  and  a  little 
motion,  and  we  will  construct  the  universe.  It  is  not 
enough  that  we  should  have  matter,  we  must  also 
have  a  single  impulse,  one  shove  to  launch  the  mass, 
and  generate  the  harmony  of  the  centrifugal  and  cen 
tripetal  forces.  Once  heave  the  ball  from  the  hand, 
and  we  can  show  how  all  this  mighty  order  grew.  — 
A  very  unreasonable  postulate,  thought  some  of  their 
students,  and  a  plain  begging  of  the  question.  Could 
you  not  prevail  to  know  the  genesis  of  projection  as 
well  as  the  continuation  of  it?  —  Nature,  meantime, 
had  not  waited  for  the  discussion,  but,  right  or  wrong, 
bestowed  the  impulse,  and  the  balls  rolled.  It  was  no 
great  affair,  a  mere  push,  but  the  astronomers  were 
right  in  making  much  of  it,  for  there  is  no  end  to  the 
consequences  of  the  act.  That  famous  aboriginal 
push  propagates  itself  through  all  the  balls  of  the 
system,  and  through  every  atom  of  every  ball; 
through  all  the  races  of  creatures,  and  through  the 
history  and  performances  of  every  individual.  Ex 
aggeration  is  in  the  course  of  things.  Nature  sends 
no  creature,  no  man,  into  the  world,  without  adding 
a  small  excess  of  his  proper  quality.  Given  the 
planet,  it  is  still  necessary  to  add  the  impulse;  so  to 
every  creature  nature  added  a  little  violence  of  direc 
tion  in  its  proper  path,  a  shove  to  put  it  on  its  way; 
in  every  instance  a  slight  generosity,  a  drop  too  much. 
Without  electricity  the  air  would  rot,  and  without 

115 


116  TANTALUS 

this  violence  of  direction  which  men  and  women  have, 
without  a  spice  of  bigot  and  fanatic,  no  excitement, 
no  efficiency.  We  aim  above  the  mark  to  hit  the 
mark.  Every  act  hath  some  falsehood  of  exaggera 
tion  in  it.  And  when  now  and  then  comes  along 
some  sad,  sharp-eyed  man,  who  sees  how  paltry  a 
game  is  played  and  refuses  to  play,  but  blabs  the 
secret;  how  then?  is  the  bird  flown?  O  no,  the  wary 
Nature  sends  a  new  troop  of  fairer  forms,  of  lordlier 
youths,  with  a  little  more  excess  of  direction  to  hold 
them  fast  to  their  several  aim;  makes  them  a  little 
wrong-headed  in  that  direction  in  which  they  are 
rightest,  and  on  goes  the  game  again  with  new  whirl 
for  a  generation  or  two  more.  See  the  child,  the  fool 
of  his  senses,  with  his  thousand  pretty  pranks,  com 
manded  by  every  sight  and  sound,  without  any  power 
to  compare  and  rank  his  sensations,  abandoned  to 
every  bauble,  to  a  whistle,  a  painted  chip,  a  lead  drag 
oon,  a  gilt  gingerbread  horse;  individualizing  every 
thing,  generalizing  nothing,  who  thus  delighted  with 
every  thing  new,  lies  down  at  night  overpowered  by 
the  fatigue,  which  this  day  of  continual  pretty  mad 
ness  has  incurred.  But  Nature  has  answered  her 
purpose  with  the  curly,  dimpled  lunatic.  She  has 
tasked  every  faculty  and  has  secured  the  symmetrical 
growth  of  the  bodily  frame  by  all  these  attitudes  and 
exertions;  an  end  of  the  first  importance,  which 
could  not  be  trusted  to  any  care  less  perfect  than  her 
own.  This  glitter,  this  opaline  lustre  plays  round  the 
top  of  every  toy  to  his  eye,  to  ensure  his  fidelity,  and 
he  is  deceived  to  his  good. 

We  are  made  alive  and  kept  alive  by  the  same  arts. 
Let  the  stoics  say  what  they  please,  we  do  not  eat 
for  the  good  of  living,  but  because  the  meat  is  savory, 
and  the  appetite  is  keen.  Nature  does  not  content 
herself  with  casting  from  the  flower  or  the  tree  a 


TANTALUS  117 

single  seed,  but  she  fills  the  air  and  earth  with  a 
prodigality  of  seeds,  that,  if  thousands  perish,  thou 
sands  may  plant  themselves,  that  hundreds  may  come 
up,  that  tens  may  live  to  maturity,  that  at  least  one 
may  replace  the  parent.  All  things  betray  the  same 
calculated  profusion.  The  excess  of  fear  with  which 
the  animal  frame  is  hedged  round,  shrinking  from 
cold,  starting  at  sight  of  a  snake,  at  every  sudden 
noise  or  falling  stone,  protects  us  through  a  multitude 
of  groundless  alarms  from  some  one  real  danger  at 
last.  The  lover  seeks  in  marriage  his  private  felicity 
and  perfection,  with  no  prospective  end;  and  nature 
hides  in  his  happiness  her  own  end,  namely,  progeny, 
or  the  perpetuity  of  the  race. 

But  the  craft  with  which  the  world  is  made  runs 
also  into  the  mind  and  character  of  men.  No  man 
is  quite  sane,  but  each  has  a  vein  of  folly  in  his  com 
position,  a  slight  determination  of  blood  to  the  head, 
to  make  sure  of  holding  him  hard  to  some  one  point 
which  nature  had  taken  to  heart. 

Great  causes  are  never  tried  on  their  merits;  but 
the  great  cause  is  reduced  to  particulars,  to  suit  the 
size  of  the  partisans,  and  the  contention  is  ever  hottest 
on  minor  matters.  Not  less  remarkable  is  that  over- 
faith  of  each  man  in  the  importance  of  what  he  has 
to  do  or  say.  The  poet,  the  prophet  has  a  higher 
value  for  what  he  utters,  than  any  hearer,  and  there 
fore  it  gets  spoken.  The  strong,  self-complacent 
Luther  declares,  with  an  emphasis  not  to  be  mistaken, 
that  "  God  himself  cannot  do  without  wise  men." 
Jacob  Behmen  and  George  Fox  betray  their  egotism 
in  the  pertinacity  of  their  controversial  tracts,  and 
James  Naylor  once  suffered  himself  to  be  worshipped 
as  the  Christ.  Each  prophet  comes  presently  to  iden 
tify  himself  with  his  thought,  and  to  esteem  his  hat 
and  shoes  sacred.  However  this  may  discredit  such 


118  TANTALUS 

persons  with  the  judicious,  it  helps  them  with  the 
people,  and  gives  pungency,  heat,  and  publicity  to 
their  words.  A  similar  experience  is  not  infrequent 
in  private  life.  Each  young  and  ardent  person  writes 
a  diary,  into  which,  when  the  hours  of  prayer  and 
penitence  arrive,  he  inscribes  his  soul.  The  pages 
thus  written  are  to  him  burning  and  fragrant;  he 
reads  them  on  his  knees  by  midnight  and  by  the  morn 
ing  star;  he  wets  them  with  his  tears.  They  are 
sacred;  too  good  for  the  world,  and  hardly  yet  to  be 
shown  to  the  dearest  friend.  This  is  the  man-child 
that  is  born  to  the  soul,  and  her  life  still  circulates 
in  the  babe.  The  living  cord  has  not  yet  been  cut. 
By  and  by,  when  some  time  has  elapsed,  he  begins  to 
wish  to  admit  his  friend  or  friends  to  this  hallowed 
experience,  and  with  hesitation,  yet  with  firmness,  ex 
poses  the  pages  to  his  eye.  Will  they  not  burn  his 
eyes?  The  friend  coldly  turns  them  over,  and  re 
turns  from  the  writing  to  conversation  with  easy  tran 
sition,  which  strikes  the  other  party  with  astonish 
ment  and  vexation.  He  cannot  suspect  the  writing 
itself.  Days  and  nights  of  fervid  life,  of  communion 
with  angels  of  darkness  and  of  light,  bear  witness  in 
his  memory  to  that  tear-stained  book.  He  suspects 
the  intelligence  or  the  heart  of  his  friend.  Is  there 
then  no  friend?  He  cannot  yet  credit  that  one  may 
have  impressive  experience,  and  yet  may  not  know 
how  to  put  his  private  fact  into  literature,  or  into 
harmony  with  the  great  community  of  minds;  and 
perhaps  the  discovery,  that  wisdom  has  other  tongues 
and  ministers  than  we,  that  the  truth,  which  burns 
like  living  coals  in  our  heart,  burns  in  a  thousand 
breasts,  and  though  we  should  hold  our  peace,  that 
would  not  the  less  be  spoken,  might  check  too  sud 
denly  the  flames  of  our  zeal.  A  man  can  only  speak 
so  long  as  he  does  not  feel  his  speech  to  be  partial  and 


TANTALUS  119 

inadequate.  It  is  partial,  but  he  does  not  see  it  to  be 
so  whilst  he  makes  it.  As  soon  as  he  is  released  from 
the  instinctive,  the  particular,  and  sees  its  partiality, 
he  shuts  his  mouth  in  disgust.  For  no  man  can  write 
any  thing,  who  does  not  think  that  what  he  writes  is 
for  the  time  the  history  of  the  world ;  or  do  any  thing 
well,  who  does  not  esteem  his  work  to  be  of  greatest 
importance.  My  work  may  be  of  none,  but  I  must 
not  think  it  of  none,  or  I  shall  not  do  it  with  impunity. 

In  like  manner,  there  is  throughout  nature  some 
thing  mocking,  something  that  leads  us  on  and  on, 
but  arrives  nowhere,  keeps  no  faith  with  us;  all 
promise  outruns  the  performance.  We  live  in  a 
system  of  approximations,  not  of  fulfilment.  Every 
end  is  prospective  of  some  other  end,  which  is  also 
temporary;  a  round  and  final  success  nowhere  We 
are  encamped  in  nature,  not  domesticated  Hunger 
and  thirst  lead  us  on  to  eat  and  to  drink,  but  bread 
and  wine,  mix  and  cook  them  how  you  will,  leave  us 
hungry  and  thirsty  after  the  stomach  is  full.  It  is 
the  same  with  all  our  arts  and  performances.  Our 
music,  our  poetry,  our  language  itself,  are  not  satis 
factions  but  suggestions. 

The  pursuit  of  wealth,  of  which  the  results  are  so 
magical  in  the  contest  with  nature,  and  hi  reducing 
the  face  of  the  planet  to  a  garden,  is  like  the  headlong 
game  of  the  children  in  its  reaction  on  the  pursuers. 
What  is  the  end  sought?  Plainly  to  secure  the  ends 
of  good  sense  and  beauty  from  the  intrusion  of  de 
formity  or  vulgarity  of  any  kind.  But  men  use  a 
very  operose  method.  What  an  apparatus  of  means 
to  secure  a  little  conversation!  This  great  palace  of 
brick  and  stone,  these  servants,  this  kitchen,  these 
stables,  horses,  and  equipage;  this  bankstock  and  file 
of  mortgages;  trade  to  all  the  world;  countryhouse 
and  cottage  by  the  waterside;  all  for  a  little  conver- 


120  TANTALUS 

sation,  high,  clear,  and  spiritual!  Could  it  not  be  had 
as  well  by  beggars  on  the  highway?  No,  all  these 
things  came  from  the  successive  efforts  of  these  beg 
gars  to  remove  one  and  another  interference.  Wealth 
was  applied  first  to  remove  friction  from  the  wheels 
of  life;  to  give  clearer  opportunity.  Conversation, 
character,  were  the  avowed  ends;  wealth  was  good 
as  it  silenced  the  creaking  door,  cured  the  smoky 
chimney,  brought  friends  together  in  a  warm  and 
quiet  room,  and  kept  the  children  and  the  dinner- 
table  in  a  different  apartment.  Thought,  virtue, 
beauty,  were  the  ends,  but  it  was  known  that  men  of 
thought  and  virtue  sometimes  had  the  headache,  or 
wet  feet,  or  could  lose  good  time  whilst  the  room  was 
getting  warm  in  winter  days.  Unluckily  in  the  ex 
ertions  necessary  to  remove  these  inconveniences,  the 
main  attention  had  been  diverted  to  this  object;  the 
old  aims  had  been  lost  sight  of,  and  to  remove  fric 
tion  had  come  to  be  the  end.  That  is  the  ridicule  of 
rich  men,  and  Boston,  London,  Vienna,  and  now  the 
governments  generally  of  the  world  are  cities  and 
governments  of  the  rich,  and  the  masses  are  not  men, 
but  poor  men,  that  is,  men  who  would  be  rich;  that 
is  the  ridicule  of  the  class,  that  they  arrive  with  pains 
and  sweat,  and  fury,  nowhere;  when  all  is  done,  it 
is  for  nothing.  They  are  men  who  have  interrupted 
the  whole  conversation  of  a  company  to  make  their 
speech,  and  now  have  forgotten  what  they  went  to 
say.  The  appearance  strikes  the  eye,  everywhere,  of 
an  aimless  society,  an  aimless  nation,  an  aimless  world. 
Were  the  ends  of  nature  so  great  and  cogent  as  to 
exact  this  immense  sacrifice  of  men? 

Quite  analogous  to  these  deceits  in  life,  there  is,  as 
might  be  expected,  a  similar  effect  on  the  eye  from 
the  face  of  external  nature.  There  is  in  woods  and 
waters  a  certain  enticement  and  flattery,  together 


TANTALUS  121 

with  a  failure  to  yield  a  present  satisfaction.  This 
disappointment  is  felt  in  every  landscape.  I  have 
seen  the  softness  and  beauty  of  the  summer  clouds 
floating  feathery  overhead,  enjoying,  as  it  seemed, 
their  height  and  privilege  of  motion,  whilst  yet  they 
appeared  not  so  much  the  drapery  of  this  place  and 
hour,  as  fore-looking  to  some  pavilions  and  gardens 
of  festivity  beyond.  Who  is  not  sensible  of  this 
jealousy?  Often  you  shall  find  yourself  not  near 
enough  to  your  object.  The  pine  tree,  the  river,  the 
bank  of  flowers,  before  you,  does  not  seem  to  be  na 
ture.  Nature  is  still  elsewhere.  This  or  this  is  but 
outskirt  and  far-off  reflection  and  echo  of  the  triumph 
that  has  passed  by,  and  is  now  at  its  glancing  splen 
dor  and  heyday,  perchance  in  the  neighboring  fields, 
or,  if  you  stood  in  the  field,  then  in  the  adjacent 
woods.  The  present  object  shall  give  you  this  sense 
of  stillness  that  follows  a  pageant  which  has  just  gone 
by.  It  is  the  same  among  the  men  and  women,  as 
among  the  silent  trees;  always  a  referred  existence, 
an  absence,  never  a  presence  and  satisfaction.  Is  it 
that  beauty  can  never  be  grasped?  in  persons  and  in 
landscape  is  equally  inaccessible?  The  accepted  and 
betrothed  lover  has  lost  the  wildest  charm  of  his 
maiden  in  her  acceptance  of  him.  She  was  heaven 
whilst  he  pursued  her  as  a  star.  She  cannot  be  heaven 
if  she  stoops  to  such  an  one  as  he.  So  is  it  with  these 
wondrous  skies,  and  hills,  and  forests.  What  splen 
did  distance,  what  recesses  of  ineffable  pomp  and 
loveliness  in  the  sunset !  But  who  can  go  where  they 
are,  or  lay  his  land,  or  plant  his  foot  thereon?  Off 
they  fall  from  the  round  world  for  ever  and  ever; 
glory  is  not  for  hands  to  handle. 

What  shall  we  say  of  this  omnipresent  appearance 
of  that  first  projectile  impulse,  this  flattery  and 
baulking  of  so  many  good  well-meaning  creatures? 


122  TANTALUS 

Must  we  not  suppose  somewhere  in  the  universe  a 
slight  treachery,  a  slight  derision?  Are  we  not  en 
gaged  to  a  serious  resentment  of  this  use  that  is  made 
of  us?  Are  we  tickled  trout,  and  fools  of  nature? 
Unhappily,  there  is  not  the  smallest  prospect  of  ad 
vantage  from  such  considerations.  Practically,  there 
is  no  great  danger  of  their  being  pressed.  One  look 
at  the  face  of  heaven  and  earth  puts  all  petulance  at 
rest,  and  soothes  us  to  wiser  convictions.  We  see 
that  Nature  converts  itself  into  a  vast  promise,  and 
will  not  be  rashly  explained.  Her  secret  is  untold. 
Many  and  many  an  CEdipus  arrives;  ^e  has  the  whole 
mystery  teeming  in  his  brain.  Alas !  tnk  same  sorcery 
has  spoiled  his  skill ;  no  syllable  can  he\hape  on  his 
lips.  Her  mighty  orbit  vaults  like  the  fresh  rainbow 
into  the  deep,  but  no  archangel's  wing  was  yet  strong 
enough  to  follow  it  and  report  of  the  return  of  the 
curve.  Eut  it  also  appears,  and  the  experience  might 
dispose  us  to  serenity,  that  our  actions  are  seconded 
and  disposed  to  greater  conclusions  than  we  designed. 
We  are  escorted  on  every  hand  through  life  by  great 
spiritual  potentates,  and  a  beneficent  purpose  lies  in 
wait  for  us.  It  is  not  easy  to  deal  with  Nature  by 
card  and  calculation.  We  cannot  bandy  words  with 
her;  we  cannot  deal  with  her  as  man  with  man.  If 
we  measure  our  individual  forces  against  hers,  we 
may  easily  feel  as  if  we  were  the  sport  of  an  over 
whelming  destiny.  But  if,  instead  of  identifying  our 
selves  with  the  work,  we  feel  that  the  soul  of  the 
Workman  streams  through  us,  that  a  paradise  of  love 
and  power  lies  close  beside  us,  where  the  Eternal 
Architect  broods  on  his  thought  and  projects  the 
world  from  his  bosom,  we  may  find  the  peace  of  the 
morning  dwelling  first  in  our  hearts,  and  the  fathom 
less  powers  of  gravity  and  chemistry,  and  over  them 
of  life,  pre-existing  within  us  in  their  highest  form. 


ETHNICAL    SCRIPTURES 

APRIL,  1844 
CHALD^EAN  ORACLES 

WE  owe  to  thai  eminent  benefactor  of  scholars  and 
philosophers,  #ie  late  Thomas  Taylor,  who,  we  hope, 
will  not  lonjp'want  a  biographer,  the  collection  of  the 
"  Oracles  pi  Zoroaster  and  the  Theurgists,"  from 
which  we^extract  all  the  sentences  ascribed  to  Zoroas 
ter,  and  a  part  of  the  remainder.  We  prefix  a  por 
tion  of  Mr.  Taylor's  preface :  — 

"  These  remains  of  Chaldsean  theology  are  not  only 
venerable  for  their  antiquity,  but  inestimably  valu 
able  for  the  unequalled  sublimity  of  the  doctrines 
they  contain.  They  will  doubtless,  too,  be  held  in  the 
highest  estimation  by  every  liberal  mind,  when  it  is 
considered  that  some  of  them  are  the  sources  whence 
the  sublime  conceptions  of  Plato  flowed,  and  that 
others  are  perfectly  conformable  to  his  most  abstruse 
dogmas. 

"  I  add,  for  the  sake  of  those  readers  that  are  unac 
quainted  with  the  scientific  theology  of  the  ancients, 
that  as  the  highest  principle  of  things  is  a  nature  truly 
ineffable  and  unknown,  it  is  impossible  that  this  vis 
ible  world  could  have  been  produced  by  him  without 
mediums ;  and  this  not  through  any  impotency,  but, 
on  the  contrary,  through  transcendency  of  power. 
For  if  he  had  produced  all  things  without  the  agency 
of  intermediate  beings,  all  things  must  have  been,  like 
himself,  ineffable  and  unknown.  It  is  necessary, 

123 


124          ETHNICAL    SCRIPTURES 

therefore,  that  there  should  be  certain  mighty  powers 
between  the  supreme  principle  of  things  and  us:  for 
we,  in  reality,  are  nothing  more  than  the  dregs  of  the 
universe.  These  mighty  powers,  from  their  surpass 
ing  similitude  to  the  first  god,  were  very  properly 
called  by  the  ancients,  gods;  and  were  considered  by 
them  as  perpetually  subsisting  in  the  most  admirable 
and  profound  union  with  each  other,  and  the  first 
cause;  yet  so  as  amidst  this  union  to  preserve  their 
own  energy  distinct  from  that  of  the  highest  god. 
For  it  would  be  absurd  in  the  extreme,  to  allow  that 
man  has  a  peculiar  energy  of  his  own,  and  to  deny 
that  this  is  the  case  with  the  most  exalted  beings. 
Hence,  as  Proclus  beautifully  observes,  the  gods  may 
be  compared  to  trees  rooted  in  the  earth :  for  as  these, 
by  their  roots,  are  united  with  the  earth,  and  become 
earthly  in  an  eminent  degree,  without  being  earth  it 
self ;  so  the  gods,  by  their  summits,  are  profoundly 
united  to  the  first  cause,  and  by  this  means  are  tran- 
scendently  similar  to,  without  being  the  first  cause. 

"  Lines,  too,  emanating  from  the  centre  of  a  circle, 
afford  us  a  conspicuous  image  of  the  manner  in  which 
these  mighty  powers  proceed  from,  and  subsist  in,  the 
ineffable  principle  of  things.  For  here,  the  lines  are 
evidently  things  different  from  the  centre,  to  which, 
at  the  same  time,  by  their  summits,  they  are  exquis 
itely  allied.  And  these  summits,  which  are  indescrib 
ably  absorbed  in  the  centre,  are  yet  no  parts  (i.  e. 
powers)  of  it:  for  the  centre  has  a  subsistence  prior 
to  them,  as  being  their  cause." 

ORACLES   OF   ZOROASTER 

There  is  also  a  portion  for  the  image 1  in  the  place  2 
every  way  splendid. 

1  That  is,  the  irrational  soul,  which  is  the  image  of  the  rational. 

2  That  is,  the  region  above  the  moon. 


ETHNICAL    SCRIPTURES  125 

Nor  should  you  leave  the  dregs  of  matter *  in  the 
precipice.2 

Nor  should  you  expel  the  soul  from  the  body,  lest 
in  departing  it  retain  something. 3, 

4  Direct  not  your  attention  to  the  immense  meas 
ures  of  the  earth ;  for  the  plant  of  truth  is  not  in  the 
earth.  Nor  measure  the  dimensions  of  the  sun,  by 
means  of  collected  rules ;  for  it  revolves  by  the  eter 
nal  will  of  the  Father,  and  not  for  your  sake.  Dismiss 
the  sounding  course  of  the  moon;  for  it  perpetually 
runs  through  the  exertions  of  necessity.  The  advan 
cing  procession  of  the  stars  was  not  generated  for 
your  sake.  The  wide-spread  aerial  wing  of  birds, 
and  the  sections  of  victims  and  viscera  are  never 
true;  but  all  these  are  mere  puerile  sports,  the 
foundations  of  mercantile  deception.  Fly  from 
these,  if  you  intend  to  open  the  sacred  paradise  of 
piety,  where  virtue,  wisdom,  and  equity,  are  collected 
together. 

Explore  the  river  5  of  the  soul,  whence,  or  in  what 
order,  having  become  a  servant  to  body,  you  may 
again  rise  to  that  order  from  which  you  flowed,  uni 
ting  operation  to  sacred  reason.6 

Verge  not  downward,  a  precipice  lies  under  the 
earth,  which  draws  through  a  descent  of  seven  steps, 7 

1 i.  e.  The  human  body. 

2  i.  e.  This  terrestrial  region. 

*  i.  e.  Lest  it  retain  something  of  the  more  passive  life. 

4  This  oracle  is  conformable  to  what  Plato  says  in  his  Republic, 
that  a  philosopher  must  astronomize  above  the  heavens :  that  is  to 
say,  he  must  speculate  the  celestial  orbs,  as  nothing  more  than 
images  of  forms  in  the  intelligible  world. 

6  i.  e.  The  producing  cause  of  the  soul. 

6  By  sacred  reason,  is  meant  the  summit,  or  principal  power  of 
the  soul,  which  Zoroaster,  in  another  place,  calls  the  flower  of 
intellect. 

7  i.  e.  The  orbs  of  the  seven  planets. 


126  ETHNICAL    SCRIPTURES 

and  under  which  lies  the  throne  of  dire  neces 
sity. 

You  should  never  change  barbarous  names.1 

In  a  certain  respect,  the  world  possesses  intellec 
tual,  inflexible  sustainers.2 

Energize  about  the  Hecatic  sphere.3 

If  you  invoke  me?  all  things  will  appear  to 
you  to  be  a  lion.  For  neither  will  the  convex  bulk 
of  heaven  then  be  visible;  the  stars  will  not  shine; 
the  light  of  the  moon  will  be  concealed;  the  earth 
will  not  stand  firm;  but  all  things  will  be  seen  in 
thunder. 

On  all  sides,  with  an  unfigured5  soul,  extend  the 
reins  of  fire. 

0  man,  thou  subtle  production,6  that  art  of  a  bold 
nature ! 

In  the  left  hand  inward  parts  of  Hecate7    is  the 

1  For  in  every  nation  there  are  names  of  divine  origin,  and 
which  possess  an  ineffable  power  in  mystic  operations. 

2  i.  e.  The  fontal  fathers,  or  intellectual  gods.     By  in  flexible, 
understand  stable  power. 

3  This  sphere  was  of  gold.     In  the  middle  of  it  there  was  a 
sapphire;    and  the  sphere  itself  was  turned  round  by  means  of 
a  thong,  made  of  the  hide  of  an  ox.     It  was  likewise  every  where 
inscribed  with  characters;    and  the  Chaldseans  turning  it  round, 
made  certain  invocations.    But  it  is  called  Hecatine,  because  ded 
icated  to  Hecate. 

4  By  me  is  meant  the  fountain  or  cause  of  the  celestial  constel 
lation  called  the  lion. 

B  By  unfigured,  understand  most  simple  and  pure ;  and  by  the 
reins  of  fire,  the  unimpeded  energy  of  the  theurgic  life  of  such 
a  soul. 

6  Man  is  a  subtle  production,  considered  as  the  work  of  the 
secret  art  of  divinity.  But  he  is  of  a  bold  nature,  as  exploring 
things  more  excellent  than  himself. 

7  Hecate,  according  to  the  Chaldaeans,  is  the  centre  of  the  in 
tellectual  gods:  and  they  say,  that  in  her  right  hand  parts  she 
contains  the  fountain  of  souls;  and  in  her  left,  the  fountain  of 
the  virtues. 


ETHNICAL    SCRIPTURES  127 

fountain  of  virtue,  which  wholly  abides  within,  and 
does  not  emit  its  virginal  nature. 

When  you  behold  a  sacred  fire  l  without  form,  shi 
ning  with  a  leaping  splendor  through  the  profundi 
ties  of  the  whole  world,  hear  the  voice  of  fire. 

You  should  not  invoke  the  self -conspicuous  image 
of  nature.2 

Nature  persuades  us  that  there  are  holy  daemons, 
and  that  the  blossoms  of  depraved  matter 3  are  useful 
and  good. 

4  The  soul  of  mortals  compels,  in  a  certain  respect, 
divinity  into  itself,  possessing  nothing  mortal,  and 
is  wholly  inebriated  from  deity;  for  it  glories 
in  the  harmony  5  under  which  the  mortal  body  sub 
sists. 

The  immortal  depth6  of  the  soul  should  be  the 
leader ;  but  vehemently  extend  all  your  eyes 7  up 
wards. 

You  should  not  defile  the  spirit,8  nor  give  depth  to 
a  superficies. 

Seek  Paradise.9 

1  This  oracle  relates  to  the  vision  of  divine  light. 

2  i.  e.  The  image,  to  be  invoked  in  the  mysteries,  must  be  intel 
ligible,  and  not  sensible. 

3  By  the  blossoms  of  depraved  matter,  understand  the  daemons 
called  Evil;    but  which  are  not  so  essentially,  but   from  their 
office. 

4  That  is,  the  human  soul,  through  its  immortality  and  purity, 
becomes  replete  with  a  more  excellent  life,  and  divine  illumina 
tion  ;   and  is,  as  it  were,  raised  above  itself. 

5  i,  e.  Unapparent  and  intelligible  harmony. 

6  i.  e.  The  summit  or  flower  of  its  nature. 

7  *.  e.  All  the  gnostic  powers  of  the  soul. 

8  Understand  by  the  spirit,  the  aerial  vehicle  of  the  soul ;   and 
by  the  super-fides,  the  ethereal  and  lucid  vehicle. 

9  The  Chaldaic  Paradise  is  the  choir  of  divine  powers  about 
the  Father  of  the  universe;    and  the  empyrean  beauties  of  the 
demiurgic  fountains. 


128  ETHNICAL    SCRIPTURES 

1  The  wild  beasts  of  the  earth  shall  inhabit  thy 
vessel. 

By  extending  a  fiery  intellect2  to  the  work  of 
piety,  you  will  also  preserve  the  flowing  body. 

From  the  bosom  therefore  of  the  earth,  terrestrial 
dogs3  leap  forth,  who  never  exhibit  a  true  sign  to 
mortal  man. 

The  Father4  perfected  all  things,  and  delivered 
them  to  the  second  intellect, 5  M^hich  the  nations  of  men 
call  the  first. 

The  furies  are  the  bonds  of  men.6 

The  paternal  intellect  disseminated  symbols  7  in 
souls. 

8  Those  souls  that  leave  the  body  with  violence  are 
the  most  pure. 

The  soul  being  a  splendid  fire,  through  the  power 
of  the  father  remains  immortal,  is  the  mistress  9  of 
life,  and  possesses  many  perfections  of  the  bosoms 
of  the  world. 

1  By  the  vessel  is   meant  the   composite  temperature   of   the 
soul;    and  by  the  wild  beasts  of  the  earth,  terrestrial  daemons. 
These,  therefore,  will  reside  in  the  soul  which  is  replete  with 
irrational  affections. 

2  i.  e.  An  intellect  full  of  divine  light. 

3  t.  e.  Material  daemons. 
4z.  e.  Saturn. 

5 i.  e.  Jupiter. 

6  That  is,  the  powers  that  punish  guilty  souls,  bind  them  to 
their  material  passions,  and  in  these,  as  it  were,  suffocate  them; 
such  punishment  being  finally  the  means  of  purification.     Nor  do 
these  powers  only  afflict  the  vicious,  but  even  such  as  convert 
themselves  to  an  immaterial  essence;    for  these,  through  their 
connection  with  matter,  require  a  purification  of  this  kind. 

7  That  is,  symbols  of  all  the  divine  natures. 

8  This  oracle  praises  a  violent  death,  because  the  soul,  in  this 
case,  is  induced  to  hate  the  body,  and  rejoice  in  a  liberation 
from  it. 

•  The  soul  is  the  mistress  of  life,  because  it  extends  vital  il 
luminations  to  the  body,  which  is,  of  itself,  destitute  of  life. 


ETHNICAL    SCRIPTURES  129 

The  Father  did  not  hurl  forth  fear,  but  infused 
persuasion.1 

The  Father  2  has  hastily  withdrawn  himself,  but 
has  not  shut  up  his  proper  fire,  in  his  own  intellectual 
power. 

There  is  a  certain  intelligible  3  which  it  becomes  you 
to  understand  with  the  flower  of  intellect. 

The  expelling  powers  4  of  the  soul  which  cause  her 
to  respire,  are  of  an  unrestrained  nature. 

It  becomes  you  to  hasten  to  the  light  and  the  rays 
of  the  Father,  whence  a  soul  was  imparted  to  you, 
invested  with  an  abundance  of  intellect. 

All  things  are  the  progeny  of  one  fire. 5 

6  That  which  intellect  says,  it  undoubtedly  says  by 
intellection. 

7  Ha!  ha!  the  earth  from  beneath  bellows  at  these 
as  far  as  to  their  children. 

You  should  not  increase  your  fate.8 

1  That  is,  as  divinity  is  not  of  a  tyrannical  nature,  he  draws 
every  thing  to  himself  by  persuasion,  and  not  by  fear. 

2  That  is,  Saturn,  the  summit  of  the  intellectual  order,  is  per 
fectly  separated  from  all  connection  with  matter;    but,  at  the 
same  time,  imparts  his  divinity  to  inferior  natures. 

3  Meaning  the  intelligible,  which  immediately  subsists   after 
the  highest  God. 

4  That  is,  those  powers  of  the  soul  which  separate  it  from  the 
body. 

6  That  is,  of  one  divine  nature. 

6  That  is,  the  voice  of  intellect  is  an  intellectual,  or,  in  other 
words,  an  immaterial  and  indivisible  energy. 

7  The  meaning  of  the  oracle  is,  that  even  the  very  children  of 
the  impious  are  destined  to  subterranean  punishments ;    and  this, 
with  the  greatest  propriety ;   for  those  who,  in  a  former  life,  have 
perpetrated  similar  crimes,  become,  through  the  wise  administra 
tion  of  Providence,  the  members  of  one  family. 

8 Fate  is  the  full  perfection  of  those  divine  illuminations  which 
are  received  by  Nature;  but  Providence  is  the  immediate  energy 
of  deity.  Hence,  when  we  energize  intellectually,  we  are  under 
the  dominion  of  Providence;  but  when  corporeally,  under  that 


130          ETHNICAL    SCRIPTURES 

Nothing  imperfect  proceeds,  according  to  a  circu 
lar  energy,  from  a  paternal  principle. 1 

But  the  paternal  intellect  will  not  receive  the  will 
of  the  soul,  till  she  has  departed  from  oblivion;  2  and 
has  spoken  the  word,  assuming  the  memory  of  her 
paternal  sacred  impression. 

When  you  behold  the  terrestrial 3  daemon  approach 
ing,  vociferate  and  sacrifice  the  stone  MNIZURIM. 

Learn  the  intelligible,  for  it  subsists  beyond  intel 
lect.  4 

The  intelligible  lynges  possess  intellection  them 
selves  from  the  Father,  so  far  as  they  energize  intel 
lectually,  being  moved  by  ineffable  counsels. 

He  who  knows  himself,  knows  all  things  in  himself, 
as  Zoroaster  first  asserted,  and  afterwards  Plato  in 
the  first  Alcibiades.  —  Pici  Mirand.  Op.  torn.  1,  p. 
211. 

Since  the  soul  perpetually  runs,  in  a  certain  space 
of  time  it  passes  through  all  things,  which  circulation 

of  Fate.      The  oracle,  therefore,  admonishes  to  withdraw  our 
selves  from  corporeal  energy. 

1  For  divinity  is  self-perfect;    and  the  imperfect  cannot  pro 
ceed  from  the  perfect. 

2  That  is,  till  she  has  recovered  her  knowledge  of  the  divine 
symbols,  and  sacred  reasons,  from  which  she  is  composed;    the 
former  of  which  she  receives  from  the  divine  unities,  and  the 
latter  from  sacred  ideas. 

*  Terrestrial  daemons  are  full  of  deceit,  as  being  remote  from 
divine  knowledge,  and  replete  with  dark  matter;  he,  therefore, 
who  desires  to  receive  any  true  information  from  one  of  these, 
must  prepare  an  altar,  and  sacrifice  the  stone  Mnizurim,  which 
has  the  power  of  causing  another  greater  daemon  to  appear,  who, 
approaching  invisible  to  the  material  daemon,  will  give  a  true 
answer  to  the  proposed  question;  and  this  to  the  interrogator 
himself. 

4  The  intelligible  is  twofold ;  one  kind  being  coordinate  with 
intellect,  but  the  other  being  of  a  super-essential  characteristic. 


ETHNICAL    SCRIPTURES  131 

being  accomplished,  it  is  compelled  to  run  back  again 
through  all  things,  and  unfold  the  same  web  of  gen 
eration  in  the  world,  according  to  Zoroaster;  who  is 
of  opinion,  that  the  same  causes,  on  a  time  returning, 
the  same  effects  will,  in  a  similar  manner,  return.  — 
Fidn.  de  Immortal.  Anim.  p.  123. 

ORACLES   BY   THE   THEURGISTS 

Our  voluntary  sorrows  germinate  in  us  as  the 
growth  of  the  particular  life  we  lead. 

On  beholding  yourself,  fear. 

Believe  yourself  to  be  above  body,  and  you  are. 

Those  robust  souls  perceive  truth  through  them 
selves,  and  are  of  a  more  inventive  nature;  such  a 
soul  being  saved  through  its  own  strength. 

We  should  fly  from  the  multitude  of  men  going 
along  in  a  herd. 

The  powers  build  up  the  body  of  a  holy  man. 

Not  knowing  that  every  god  is  good,  ye  are  fruit 
lessly  vigilant. 

Fiery  hope  should  nourish  you  in  the  angelic 
region. 

Ascending  souls  sing  paean. 

To  the  persevering  mortal  the  blessed  immortals 
are  swift. 

All  things  are  governed  and  subsist  in  faith,  truth, 
and  love. 

The  oracle  says,  Divinity  is  never  so  much  turned 
away  from  man,  and  never  so  much  sends  him  in 
novel  paths,  as  when  we  make  an  ascent  to  the  most 
divine  of  speculations  or  works,  in  a  confused  and 
disordered  manner,  and,  as  it  adds,  with  unhallowed 
lips  or  unbathed  feet.  For,  of  those  who  are  thus 
negligent,  the  progressions  are  imperfect,  the  im 
pulses  are  vain,  and  the  paths  are  blind. 


132          ETHNICAL    SCRIPTURES 

The  orders  prior  to  Heaven  possess  mystic  silence. 

Every  intellect  apprehends  deity. 

The  intelligible  is  food  to  that  which  understands. 

You  will  not  apprehend  it  by  an  intellectual  energy 
as  when  understanding  some  particular  thing. 

It  is  not  proper  to  understand  that  intelligible  with 
vehemence,  but  with  the  extended  flame  of  an  ex 
tended  intellect;  a  flame  which  measures  all  things, 
except  that  intelligible.  But  it  is  requisite  to  under 
stand  this.  For  if  you  incline  your  mind,  you  will 
understand  it,  though  not  vehemently.  It  becomes 
you  therefore,  bringing  with  you  the  pure  convertible 
eye  of  your  soul,  to  extend  the  void  intellect  to  the 
intelligible,  that  you  may  learn  its  nature,  because  it 
has  a  subsistence  above  intellect. 

SAYINGS  OF  PYTHAGORAS  AND  OF  THE  PYTHAGORIANS 

Follow  God. 

All  things  are  possible  to  the  Gods. 

Choose  the  most  excellent  life,  and  custom  will 
make  it  pleasant. 

This  is  the  law  of  God,  that  virtue  is  the  only  thing 
that  is  strong. 

Abstain  from  such  things  as  are  an  impediment  to 
prophecy,  or  to  the  purity  and  chastity  of  the  soul, 
or  to  the  habit  of  temperance  or  of  virtue. 

It  is  necessary  to  beget  children,  for  it  is  neces 
sary  to  leave  those  that  may  worship  the  Gods  after 
us. 

Other  compacts  are  engraved  in  tables  and  pillars, 
but  those  with  wives  are  inserted  in  children. 

It  is  holy  for  a  woman,  after  having  been  connected 
with  her  husband,  to  perform  sacred  rites  on  the  same 
day,  but  this  is  never  holy  after  she  has  been  con 
nected  with  any  other  man. 


ETHNICAL    SCRIPTURES  133 

It  is  requisite  to  be  silent,  or  to  say  something  bet 
ter  than  silence. 

The  possessions  of  friends  are  common. 

The  animal  which  is  not  naturally  noxious  to  the 
human  race  should  neither  be  injured  nor  slain. 

Intoxication  is  the  meditation  of  insanity. 

The  beginning  is  the  half  of  the  whole. 

An  oath  should  be  taken  religiously,  since  that 
which  is  behind  is  long. 

Be  sober,  and  remember  to  be  disposed  to  believe, 
for  these  are  the  nerves  of  wisdom. 

All  the  parts  of  human  life,  in  the  same  manner  as 
those  of  a  statue,  ought  to  be  beautiful. 

When  the  wise  man  opens  his  mouth,  the  beauties 
of  his  soul  present  themselves  to  the  view,  like  the 
statues  in  a  temple. 


BOOK   REVIEWS   FROM    THE   DIAL 


REVIEWS  OF  BOOKS 

OCTOBER,  1840,  TO  OCTOBER,  1843 

(.New  Poetry 

THE  tendencies  of  the  times  are  so  democratical, 
that  we  shall  won  have  not  so  much  as  a  pulpit  or 
raised  platform  in  any  church  or  townhouse,  but  each 
person,  who*s  moved  to  address  any  public  assembly, 
will  speak  from  the  floor.  The  like  revolution  in  lit 
erature  is  now  giving  importance  to  the  portfolio 
over  the  book.  Only  one  man  in  the  thousand  may 
print  a  book,  but  one  in  ten  or  one  in  five  may  ia- 
scribe  his  thoughts,  or  at  least  with  short  commentary 
his  favorite  readings  in  a  private  journal.  The  phi 
losophy  of  the  day  has  long  since  broached  a  more 
liberal  doctrine  of  the  poetic  faculty  than  our  fathers 
held,  and  reckons  poetry  the  right  and  power  of 
every  man  to  whose  culture  justice  is  done.  We  own 
that,  though  we  were  trained  in  a  stricter  school  of 
literary  faith,  and  were  in  all  our  youth  inclined  to 
the  enforcement  of  the  straitest  restrictions  on  the 
admission  of  candidates  to  the  Parnassian  fraternity, 
and  denied  the  name  of  poetry  to  every  composition 
in  which  the  workmanship  and  the  material  were  not 
equally  excellent,  in  our  middle  age  we  have  grown 
lax,  and  have  learned  to  find  pleasure  in  verses  of  a 
ruder  strain,  —  to  enjoy  verses  of  society,  or  those 
effusions  which  in  persons  of  a  happy  nature  are  the 
easy  and  unpremeditated  translation  of  their  thoughts 

137 


138  REVIEWS    OF    BOOKS 

and  feelings  into  rhyme.  This  new  taste  for  a  certain 
private  and  household  poetry,  for  somewhat  less  pre 
tending  than  the  festal  and  solemn  verses  which  are 
written  for  the  nations,  really  indicates,  we  suppose, 
that  a  new  style  of  poetry  exists.  The  number  of 
writers  has  increased.  Every  child  has  been  taught 
the  tongues.  The  universal  communication  of  the 
arts  of  reading  and  writing  has  brought  the  works  of 
the  great  poets  into  every  house,  and  made  all  ears 
familiar  with  the  poetic  forms.  The  progress  of  pop 
ular  institutions  has  favored  self-respect,  and  broken 
down  that  terror  of  the  great,  which  once  imposed 
awe  and  hesitation  on  the  talent  of  the  masses  of  so 
ciety.  A  wider  epistolary  intercourse  ministers  to  the 
ends  of  sentiment  and  reflection  than  ever  existed 
before;  the  practice  of  writing  diaries  is  becoming 
almost  general;  and  every  day  witnesses  new  at 
tempts  to  throw  into  verse  the  experiences  of  private 
life. 

What  better  omen  of  true  progress  can  we  ask 
than  an  increasing  intellectual  and  moral  interest  of 
men  in  each  other?  What  can  be  better  for  the  re 
public  than  that  the  Capitol,  the  White  House,  and 
the  Court  House  are  becoming  of  less  importance 
than  the  farm-house  and  the  book-closet?  If  we  are 
losing  our  interest  in  public  men,  and  finding  that 
their  spell  lay  in  number  and  size  only,  and  acquiring 
instead  a  taste  for  the  depths  of  thought  and  emotion, 
as  they  may  be  sounded  in  the  soul  of  the  citizen  or 
the  countryman,  does  it  not  replace  man  for  the  state, 
and  character  for  official  power?  Men  should  be 
treated  with  solemnity ;  and  when  they  come  to  chant 
their  private  griefs  and  doubts  and  joys,  they  have 
a  new  scale  by  which  to  compute  magnitude  and  re 
lation.  Art  is  the  noblest  consolation  of  calamity. 
The  poet  is  compensated  for  his  defects  in  the  street 


REVIEWS    OF   BOOKS  139 

and  in  society,  if  in  his  chamber  he  has  turned  his  mis 
chance  into  noble  numbers. 

Is  there  not  room  then  for  a  new  department  in 
poetry,  namely,  Verses  of  the  Portfolio?  We  have 
fancied  that  we  drew  greater  pleasure  from  some 
manuscript  verses  than  from  printed  ones  of  equal 
talent.  For  there  was  herein  the  charm  of  character; 
they  were  confessions;  and  the  faults,  the  imperfect 
parts,  the  fragmentary  verses,  the  halting  rhymes, 
had  a  worth  beyond  that  of  a  high  finish;  for  they 
testified  that  the  writer  was  more  man  than  artist, 
more  earnest  than  vain;  that  the  thought  was  too 
sweet  and  sacred  to  him,  than  that  he  should  suffer 
his  ears  to  hear  or  his  eyes  to  see  a  superficial  defect 
in  the  expression. 

The  characteristic  of  such  verses  is,  that  being  not 
written  for  publication,  they  lack  that  finish  which 
the  conventions  of  literature  require  of  authors.  But 
if  poetry  of  this  kind  has  merit,  we  conceive  that  the 
prescription  which  demands  a  rhythmical  polish  may 
be  easily  set  aside;  and  when  a  writer  has  outgrown 
the  state  of  thought  which  produced  the  poem,  the 
interest  of  letters  is  served  by  publishing  it  imper 
fect,  as  we  preserve  studies,  torsos,  and  blocked 
statues  of  the  great  masters.  For  though  WT  should 
be  loath  to  see  the  wholesome  conventions,  to  which 
we  have  alluded,  broken  down  by  a  general  inconti 
nence  of  publication,  and  every  man's  and  woman's 
diary  flying  into  the  bookstores,  yet  it  is  to  be  con 
sidered,  on  the  other  hand,  that  men  of  genius  are 
often  more  incapable  than  others  of  that  elaborate 
execution  which  criticism  exacts.  Men  of  genius  in 
general  are,  more  than  others,  incapable  of  any  per 
fect  exhibition,  because,  however  agreeable  it  may  be 
to  them  to  act  on  the  public,  it  is  always  a  secondary 
aim.  They  are  humble,  self-accusing,  moody  men, 


140  REVIEWS    OF   BOOKS 

whose  worship  is  toward  the  Ideal  Beauty,  which 
chooses  to  be  courted  not  so  often  in  perfect  hymns, 
as  in  wild  ear-piercing  ejaculations,  or  in  silent  mu 
sings.  Their  face  is  forward,  and  their  heart  is  in  this 
heaven.  By  so  much  are  they  disqualified  for  a  per 
fect  success  in  any  particular  performance  to  which 
they  can  give  only  a  divided  affection.  But  the  man 
of  talents  has  every  advantage  in  the  competition. 
He  can  give  that  cool  and  commanding  attention  to 
the  thing  to  be  done,  that  shall  secure  its  just  per 
formance.  Yet  are  the  failures  of  genius  better  than 
the  victories  of  talent;  and  we  are  sure  that  some 
crude  manuscript  poems  have  yielded  us  a  more  sus 
taining  and  a  more  stimulating  diet,  than  many  elab 
orated  and  classic  productions. 

We  have  been  led  to  these  thoughts  by  reading 
some  verses,  which  were  lately  put  into  our  hands  by 
a  friend  with  the  remark,  that  they  were  the  produc 
tion  of  a  youth,  who  had  long  passed  out  of  the  mood 
in  which  he  wrote  them,  so  that  they  had  become  quite 
dead  to  him.  Our  first  feeling  on  reading  them  was 
a  lively  joy.  So  then  the  Muse  is  neither  dead  nor 
dumb,  but  has  found  a  voice  in  these  cold  Cisatlantic 
States.  Here  is  poetry  which  asks  no  aid  of  magni 
tude  or  number,  of  blood  or  crime,  but  finds  theatre 
enough  in  the  first  field  or  brookside,  breadth  and 
depth  enough  in  the  flow  of  its  own  thought.  Here 
is  self -repose,  which  to  our  mind  is  stabler  than  the 
Pyramids;  here  is  self-respect  which  leads  a  man  to 
date  from  his  heart  more  proudly  than  from  Rome. 
Here  is  love  which  sees  through  surface,  and  adores 
the  gentle  nature  and  not  the  costume.  Here  is  re 
ligion,  which  is  not  of  the  Church  of  England,  nor 
of  the  Church  of  Boston.  Here  is  the  good  wise 
heart,  which  sees  that  the  end  of  culture  is  strength 
and  cheerfulness.  In  an  age  too  which  tends  with 


REVIEWS    OF   BOOKS  141 

so  strong  an  inclination  to  the  philosophical  muse, 
here  is  poetry  more  purely  intellectual  than  any 
American  verses  we  have  yet  seen,  distinguished  from 
all  competition  by  two  merits ;  the  fineness  of  percep 
tion;  and  the  poet's  trust  in  his  own  genius  to  that 
degree,  that  there  is  an  absence  of  all  conventional 
imagery,  and  a  bold  use  of  that  which  the  moment's 
mood  had  made  sacred  to  him,  quite  careless  that  it 
might  be  sacred  to  no  other,  and  might  even  be 
slightly  ludicrous  to  the  first  reader. 

We  proceed  to  give  our  readers  some  selections, 
taken  without  much  order  from  this  rich  pile  of  man 
uscript.  We  first  find  the  poet  in  his  boat. 


BOAT  -  SONG 

The  River  calmly  flows, 

Through  shining  banks,  through  lonely  glen, 
Where  the  owl  shrieks,  though  ne'er  the  cheer  of  men 

'Has  stirred  its  mute  repose, 
Still  if  you  should  walk  there,  you  would  go  there  again. 

The  stream  is  well  alive: 
Another  passive  world  you  see, 
Where  downward  grows  the  form  of  every  tree; 

Like  soft  light  clouds  they  thrive: 
Like  them  let  us  in  our  pure  loves  reflected  be. 

A  yellow  gleam  is  thrown 
Into  the  secrets  of  that  maze 
Of  tangled  trees,  which  late  shut  out  our  gaze, 

Refusing  to  be  known; 
It  must  its  privacy  unclose,  —  its  glories  blaze. 

Sweet  falls  the  summer  air 
Over  her  frame  who  sails  with  me: 
Her  way  like  that  is  beautifully  free, 

Her  nature  far  more  rare, 
And  is  her  constant  heart  of  virgin  purity. 


142  REVIEWS   OF   BOOKS 

A  quivering  star  is  seen 
Keeping  his  watch  above  the  hill, 
Though  from  the  sun's  retreat  small  light  is  still 

Poured  on  earth's  saddening  mien :  — 
We  all  are  tranquilly  obeying  Evening's  will. 

Thus  ever  love  the  POWER; 
To  simplest  thoughts  dispose  the  mind; 
In  each  obscure  event  a  worship  find 

Like  that  of  this  dim  hour, — 
In  lights,  and  airs,  and  trees,  and  in  all  human  kind. 

We  smoothly  glide  below 
The   faintly   glimmering  worlds   of  light: 
Day  has  a  charm,  and  this  deceptive  night 

Brings  a  mysterious  show ;  — 
He  shadows  our  dear  earth,  —  but  his  cool  stars  are  white. 

Is  there  any  boat-song  like  this?  any.  in  which  the 
harmony  proceeds  so  manifestly  from  the  poet's  mind, 
giving  to  nature  more  than  it  receives?  In  the  fol 
lowing  stanzas  the  writer  betrays  a  certain  habitual 
worship  of  genius,  which  characterizes  many  pieces 
in  the  collection,  breaking  out  sometimes  into  very 
abrupt  expression. 

OCTOBER 

Dry  leaves  with  yellow  ferns,  —  they  are 
Fit  wreath  of  Autumn,  while  a  star 
Still,  bright,  and  pure,  our  frosty  air 

Shivers  in  twinkling  points 

Of  thin  celestial  hair, 
And  thus  one  side  of  heaven  anoints. 

I  am  beneath  the  moon's  calm  look 
Most  quiet  in  this  sheltered  nook 
From  trouble  of  the  frosty  wind 

Which  curls  the  yellow  blade; 

Though  in  my  covered  mind 
A  grateful  sense  of  change  is  made. 


REVIEWS    OF    BOOKS  143 

To  wandering  men  how  dear  this  sight 
Of  a  cold  tranquil  autumn  night, 
In  its  majestic  deep  repose; 

Thus  will  their"  genius  be 

Not  buried  in  high  snows, 
Though  of  as  mute  tranquillity. 

An  anxious  life  they  will  not  pass, 
Nor,  as  the  shadow  on  the  grass, 
Leave  no  impression  there  to  stay; 

To  them  all  things  are  thought; 

The  blushing  morn's  decay, — 
Our  death,  our  life,  by  this  is  taught. 

0  find  in  every  haze  that  shines, 
A  brief  appearance  without  lines, 
A  single  word,  —  no  finite  joy; 

For  present  is  a  Power 
Which  we  may  not  annoy, 
Yet  love  him  stronger  every  hour. 

1  would  not  put  this  sense  from  me, 
If  I  could  some  great  sovereign  be; 
Yet  will  not  task  a  fellow  man 

To  feel  the  same  glad  sense, 
For  no  one  living  can 
•Feel  —  save  his  given  influence. 


WILLINGNESS 

An  unendeavoring  flower,  —  how  still 
Its  growth  from  morn  to  eventime; 
Nor  signs  of  hasty  anger  fill 
Its  tender  form  from  birth  to  prime 
Of  happy  will. 

And  some,  who  think  these  simple  things 
Can  bear  no  goodness  to  their  minds, 
May  learn  to  feel  how  nature  brings, 
Around  a  quiet  being  winds, 

AJid  through  us  sings. 


144  REVIEWS   OF   BOOKS 

A  stream  to  some  is  no  delight, 
Its  element  diffused  around; 
Yet  in  its  unobtrusive  flight 
There  trembles  from  its  heart  a  sound 
Like  that  of  night. 

So  give  thy  true  allotment,  —  fair ; 
To  children  turn  a  social  heart; 
And  if  thy  days  pass  clear  as  air, 
Or  friends  from  thy  beseeching  part, 
O  humbly  bear. 


SONNETS 


The  brook  is  eddying  in  the  forest  dell, 

All  full  of  untaught  merriment,  —  the  joy 

Of  breathing  life  is  this  green  wood's  employ. 

The  wind  is  feeling  through  his  gentle  bell ;  — 

I  and  my  flowers  receive  this  music  well. 

Why  will  not  man  his  natural  life  enjoy? 

Can  he  then  with  his  ample  spirit  toy? 

Are  human  thoughts  as  wares  now  baked  to  sell? 

All  up,  all  round,  all  down,  a  thrilling  deep, 

A  holy  infinite  salutes  the  sense, 

And  incommunicable  praises  leap, 

Shooting  the  entire  soul  with  love  intense, 

Throughout  the  All,  —  and  can  a  man  live  on  to  weep? 

n. 

There  never  lived  a  man  who  with  a  heart 

Resolved,  bound  up,  concentred  in  the  good, 

However  low  or  high  in  rank  he  stood, 

But  when  from  him  yourself  had  chanced  to  start, 

You  felt  how  goodness  alway  maketh  art; 

And  that  an  ever  venerable  mood 

Of  sanctity,  like  the  deep  worship  of  a  wood, 

Of  its  unconsciousness  turns  you  a  part. 


REVIEWS    OF   BOOKS  145 

Let  us  live  amply  in  the  joyous  All; 

We  surely  were  not  meant  to  ride  the  sea, 

Skimming  the  wave  in  that  so  prisoned  Small, 

Reposing  our  infinite  faculties  utterly. 

Boom  like  a  roaring  sunlit  waterfall, 

Humming  to  infinite  abysms ;  —  speak  loud,  speak  free. 

ui. 

Hearts  of  eternity,  —  hearts  of  the  deep ! 
Proclaim  from  land  to  sky  your  mighty  fate; 
How  that  for  you  no  living  comes  too  late; 
How  ye  cannot  in  Theban  labyrinth  creep; 
How  ye  great  harvests  from  small  surface  reap; 
Shout,  excellent  band,  in  grand  primeval  strain, 
Like  midnight  winds  that  foam  along  the  main, 
And  do  all  things  rather  than  pause  to  weep. 
A  human  heart  knows  nought  of  littleness, 
Suspects  no  man,  compares  with  no  man's  ways, 
Hath  in  one  hour  most  glorious  length  of  days, 
A  recompense,  a  joy,  a  loveliness, 
Like  eaglet  keen,  shoots  into  azure  far, 
And  always  dwelling  nigh  is  the  remotest  star. 


LINES 

WRITTEN    IN    THE    EVENING    OP   A    NOVEMBER    DAY 

Thee,  mild  autumnal  day, 
I  felt  not  for  myself;    the  winds  may  steal 
From  any  point,  and  seem  to  me  alike 

Reviving,  soothing  powers. 

Like  thee  the  contrast  is 
Of  a  new  mood  in  a  decaying  man, 
Whose  idle  mind  is  suddenly  revived 

With  many  pleasant  thoughts. 

Our  earth  was  gratified; 
Fresh  grass,  a  stranger  in  this  frosty  time, 
Peeped  from  the  crumbling  mould  as  welcome  as 

An  unexpected  friend. 


146  REVIEWS    OF    BOOKS 

How  glowed  the  evening  star, 
As  it  delights  to  glow  in  summer's  midst, 
When  out  of  ruddy  boughs  the  twilight  birds 

Sing  flowing  harmony. 

Peace  was  the  will  to-day, 
Love  in  bewildering  growth  our  joyous  minds 
Swelled  to  their  widest  bounds;    the  worldly  left 

All  hearts  to  sympathize. 

I  felt  for  thee,  —  for  thee, 

Whose  inward,  outward  life  completely  moves, 
Surrendered  to  the  beauty  of  the  soul 

Of  this  creative  day. 


OUR    BIRTH    DAYS 


These  are  the  solemnest  days  of  our  bright  lives, 

When  memory  and  hope  within  exert 

Delightful  reign;    when  sympathy  revives, 

And  that,  which  late  was  in  the  soul  inert, 

Grows  warm  and  living,  and  to  us  alone 

Are  these  a  knowledge;    nowise  may  they  hurt, 

Or  cry  aloud,  or  frighten  out  the  tone, 

Which  we  will  strive  to  wear  and  as  calm  nature  own. 


ii. 

Whatever  scenes  our  eyes  once  gratified, — 
Those  landscapes  couched  around  our  early  homes, 
To  which  our  tender,  peaceful  hearts  replied, 
To  those  our  present  happy  feeling  roams, 
And  takes  a  mightier  joy  than  from  the  tomes 
Of  the  pure  scholar;    those  ten  thousand  sights 
Of  constant  nature  flow  in  us,  as  foams 
The  bubbling  spring;    these  are  the  true  delights 
Wherewith  this  solemn  world  the  sorrowful  requites. 


REVIEWS    OF    BOOKS  147 

These  are  proper  Manuscript  inspirations,  honest, 
great,  but  crude.  They  have  never  been  filed  or  deco 
rated  for  the  eye  that  studies  surface.  The  writer  was 
not  afraid  to  write  ill;  he  had  a  great  meaning  too 
much  at  heart  to  stand  for  trifles,  and  wrote  lordly 
for  his  peers  alone.  This  is  the  poetry  of  hope.  Here 
is  no  French  correctness,  but  Hans  Sachs  and  Chau 
cer  rather.  But  the  minstrel  can  be  sweet  and  tender 
also.  We  select  from  the  sheaf  one  leaf,  for  which 
we  predict  a  more  general  popularity. 


A    POET'S    LOVE 

I  can  remember  well 

My  very  early  youth, 

My  sumptuous  Isabel, 

Who  was  a  girl  of  truth, 
Of  golden  truth ;  —  we  do  not  often  see 
Those  whose  whole  lives  have  only  known  to  be. 

So  sunlight,  very  warm, 

On  harvest  fields  and  trees, 

Could  not  more  sweetly  form 

Rej  oicirig  melodies 

For  these  deep  things,  than  Isabel  for  me; 
I  lay  beneath  her  soul  as  a  lit  tree. 

That  cottage  where  she  dwelt 

Was  all  o'er  mosses  green; 

J  still  forever  felt 

How  nothing  stands  between 
The  soul  and  truth;    why,  starving  poverty 
Was  nothing  —  nothing,  Isabel,  to  thee. 

Grass  beneath  her  faint  tread 

Bent  pleasantly  away; 

From  her  ne'er  small  birds  fled, 

But  kept  at  their  bright  play, 
Not  fearing  her;    it  was  her  endless  motion, 
Just  a  true  swell  upon  a  summer  ocean. 


148  REVIEWS    OF    BOOKS 

Those  who  conveyed  her  home, — 

I  mean  who  led  her  where 

The  spirit  does  not  roam, — 

Had  such  small  weight  to  bear, 
They  scarcely  felt;    how  softly  was  thy  knell 
Rung  for  thee  that  soft  day,  girl  Isabel. 

I  am  no  more  below, 

My  life  is  raised  on  high; 

My  fantasy  was  slow 

Ere  Isabel  could  die; 

It  pressed  me  down;    but  now  I  sail  away 
Into  the  regions  of  exceeding  day. 

And  Isabel  and  I 

Float  on  the  red  brown  clouds, 

That  amply  multiply 

The  very  constant  crowds 
Of  serene  shapes.     Play  on,  Mortality ! 
Thy  happiest  hour  is  that  when  thou  may'st  die. 

The  second  of  the  two  following  verses  is  of  such 
extreme  beauty,  that  we  do  not  remember  anything 
more  perfect  in  its  kind.  Had  the  poet  been  looking 
over  a  book  of  Raffaelle's  drawings,  or  perchance  the 
villas  and  temples  of  Palladio,  with  the  maiden  to 
whom  it  was  addressed? 


TO  *  *  *  * 

My  mind  obeys  the  power 

That  through  all  persons  breathes ; 
And  woods  are  murmuring, 
And  fields  begin  to  sing, 

And  in  me  nature  wreathes. 

Thou  too  art  with  me  here, — 
The  best  of  all  design;  — 

Of  that  strong  purity, 

Which  makes  it  joy  to  be 
A  distant  thought  of  thine. 


REVIEWS    OF   BOOKS  149 

But  here  are  verses  in  another  vein,  —  plain,  eth 
ical,  human,  such  as  in  ancient  lands  legislators  carved 
on  stone  tablets  and  monuments  at  the  roadside,  or 
in  the  precincts  of  temples.  They  remind  us  of  the 
austere  strain  in  which  Milton  celebrates  the  Hebrew 
prophets. 

"  In  them  is  plainest  taught  and  easiest  learned 
What  makes  a  nation  happy  and  keeps  it  so." 


The  Bible  is  a  book  worthy  to  read; 

The  life  of  those  great  Prophets  was  the  life  we  need, 

From  all  delusive  seeming  ever  freed. 

Be  not  afraid  to  utter  what  thou  art; 
'Tis  no  disgrace  to  keep  an  open  heart; 
A  soul  free,  frank,  and  loving  friends  to  aid, 
Not  even  does  this  harm  a  gentle  maid. 

Strive  as  thou  canst,  thou  wilt  not  value  o'er 
Thy  life.    Thou  standest  on  a  lighted  shore, 
And  from  the  waves  of  an  unfathomed  sea, 
The  noblest  impulses  flow  tenderly  to  thee; 
Feel  them  as  they  arise,  and  take  them  free. 

Better  live  unknown, 

No  heart  but  thy  own 

Beating  ever  near, 

To  no  mortal  dear 

In  thy  hemisphere, 

Poor  and  wanting  bread, 

Steeped  in  poverty, 

Than  to  be  a  dread, 

Than  to  be  afraid, 

From  thyself  to  flee; 

For  it  is  not  living 

To  a  soul  believing, 

To  change  each  noble  joy 

Which  our  strength  employs, 


150  REVIEWS    OF    BOOKS 

For  a  state  half  rotten 
And  a  life  of  toys. 
Better  be  forgotten 
Than  lose  equipoise. 

How  shall  I  live?     In  earnestness. 
What  shall  I  do?    Work  earnestly. 
What  shall  I  give?     A  willingness. 
What  shall  I  gain?     Tranquillity. 
But  do  you  mean  a  quietness 
In  which  I  act  and  no  man  bless  ? 
Flash  out  in  action  infinite  and  free, 
Action  conjoined  with  deep  tranquillity, 
Resting  upon  the  soul's  true  utterance, 
And  life  shall  flow  as  merry  as  a  dance. 

ii 

Life  is  too  good  to  waste,  enough  to  prize; 
Keep  looking  round  with  clear  unhooded  eyes; 
Love  all  thy  brothers,  and  for  them  endure 
Many  privations;   the  reward  is  sure. 

A  little  thing!    There  is  no  little  thing; 
Through  all  a  joyful  song  is  murmuring; 
Each  leaf,  each  stem,  each  sound  in  winter  drear 
Has  deepest  meanings  for  an  anxious  ear. 

Thou  seest  life  is  sad ;  the  father  mourns  his  wife  and  child ; 
Keep  in  the  midst  of  heavy  sorrows  a  fair  aspect  mild. 

A  howling  fox,  a  shrieking  owl, 

A  violent  distracting  Ghoul, 

Forms  of  the  most  infuriate  madness, — 

These  may  not  move  thy  heart  to  gladness, 

But  look  within  the  dark  outside, 

Nought  shalt  thou  hate  and  nought  deride. 

Thou  meet'st  a  common  man 
With  a  delusive  show  of  can. 
His  acts  are  petty  forgeries  of  natural  greatness, 
That  show  a  dreadful  lateness 

Of  this  life's  mighty  impulses;   a  want  of  truthful  earnest 
ness; 


REVIEWS   OF   BOOKS  151 

He  seems,  not  does,  and  in  that  shows 

No  true  nobility,  — 

A  poor  ductility, 

That  no  proper  office  knows, 

Not  even  estimation  small  of  human  woes. 

Be  not  afraid, 
His  understanding  aid 
With  thy  own  pure  content, 
On  highest  purpose  bent. 

Leave  him  not  lonely, 

For  that  his  admiration 

Fastens  on  self  and  seeming  only; 

Make  a  right  dedication 

Of  all  thy  strength  to  keep 

From  swelling  that  so  ample  heap 

Of  lives  abused,  of  virtue  given  for  nought, 

And  thus  it  shall  appear  for  all  in  nature  hast  thou  wrought. 

If  thou  unconsciously  perform  what's  good, 

Like  nature's  self  thy  proper  mood. 

A  life  well  spent  is  like  a  flower, 
That  had  bright  sunshine  its  brief  hour; 
It  flourished  in  pure  willingness; 
Discovered  strongest  earnestness; 
Was  fragrant  for  each  lightest  wind; 
Was  of  its  own  particular  kind ;  — 
Nor  knew  a  tone  of  discord  sharp; 
Breathed  alway  like  a  silver  harp ; 
And  went  to  immortality 
A  very  proper  thing  to  die. 

We  will  close  our  extracts  from  this  rare  file  of 
blotted  paper  with  a  lighter  strain,  which,  whilst  it 
shows  how  gaily  a  poet  can  chide,  gives  us  a  new  in 
sight  into  his  character  and  habits. 

TORMENTS 

YES!    they  torment  me 
Most  exceedingly :  — 
I  would  I  could  flee. 
A  breeze  on  a  river  — 


152  REVIEWS    OF   BOOKS 

J  listen  forever; 
The  yellowish  heather 
Under  cool  weather,  — 
These  are  pleasures  to  me. 

What  do  torment  me? 
Those  living  vacantly, 
Who  live  but  to  see; 
Indefinite  action, 
Nothing  but  motion, 
Round  stones  a  rolling, 
No  inward  controlling ;  — 
Yes !   they  torment  me. 

Some  cry  all  the  time, 
Even  in  their  prime 
Of  youth's  flushing  clime. 
O!    out  on  this  sorrow! 
Fear'st  thou  to-morrow? 
Set  thy  legs   going, 
Be  stamping,  be  rowing,  — 
This  of  life  is  the  lime. 

'Hail,  thou  mother  Earth! 

Who  gave  me  thy  worth 

For  my  portion  at  birth : 

I  walk  in  thy  azure, 

Unfond  of  erasure, 

But  they  who  torment  me 

So  most  exceedingly 

Sit  with  feet  on  the  hearth. 

We  have  more  pages  from  the  same  hand  lying 
'before  us,  marked  by  the  same  purity  and  tender 
ness  and  early  wisdom  as  these  we  have  quoted, 
but  we  shall  close  our  extracts  here.  May  the 
right  hand  that  has  so  written  never  lose  its  cun 
ning!  may  this  voice  of  love  and  harmony  teach  its 
songs  to  the  too  long  silent  echoes  of  the  Western 
Forest. 


REVIEWS    OF   BOOKS  153 

Two  Years  before  the  Mast.  A  Personal  Narrative 
of  Life  at  Sea.  New  York:  Harper  and  Brothers. 
12mo,  pp.  483. 

This  is  a  voice  from  the  forecastle.  Though  a 
narrative  of  literal,  prosaic  truth,  it  possesses  some 
thing  of  the  romantic  charm  of  Robinson  Crusoe. 
Few  more  interesting  chapters  of  the  literature  of 
the  sea  have  ever  fallen  under  our  notice.  The  author 
left  the  halls  of  the  University  for  the  deck  of  a  mer 
chant  vessel,  exchanging  "  the  tight  dress  coat,  silk 
cap,  and  kid  gloves  of  an  undergraduate  at  Cam 
bridge,  for  the  loose  duck  trowsers,  checked  skirt,  and 
tarpaulin  hat  of  a  sailor,"  and  here  presents  us  the 
fruits  of  his  voyage.  His  book  will  have  a  wide  cir 
culation;  it  will  be  praised  in  the  public  prints;  we 
shall  be  told  that  it  does  honor  to  his  head  and  heart ; 
but  we  trust  that  it  will  do  much  more  than  this ;  that 
it  will  open  the  eyes  of  many  to  the  condition  of  the 
sailor,  to  the  fearful  waste  of  man,  by  which  the  luxu 
ries  of  foreign  climes  are  made  to  increase  the  amount 
of  commercial  wealth.  This  simple  narrative, 
stamped  with  deep  sincerity,  and  often  displaying  an 
unstudied,  pathetic  eloquence,  may  lead  to  reflections, 
which  mere  argument  and  sentimental  appeals  do  not 
call  forth.  It  will  serve  to  hasten  the  day  of  reckon 
ing  between  society  and  the  sailor,  which,  though  late, 
will  not  fail  to  come. 

Social  Destiny  of  Man:  or  Association  and  Reorgan 
ization  of  Industry.  By  ALBERT  BRISBANE.  Phil 
adelphia.  12mo,  pp.  480. 

This  work  is  designed  to  give  a  condensed  view  of 
the  system  of  M.  Fourier,  for  the  improvement  and 
elevation  of  productive  industry.  It  will  be  read  with 


154  REVIEWS   OF   BOOKS 

deep  interest  by  a  large  class  of  our  population.  The 
name  of  Fourier  may  be  placed  at  the  head  of  modern 
thinkers,  whose  attention  has  been  given  to  the  prac 
tical  evils  of  society  and  the  means  of  their  removal. 
His  general  principles  should  be  cautiously  separated 
from  the  details  which  accompany  their  exposition, 
many  of  which  are  so  exclusively  adapted  to  the 
French  character,  as  to  prejudice  their  reception  with 
persons  of  opposite  habits  and  associations.  The 
great  question,  which  he  brings  up  for  discussion,  con 
cerns  the  union  of  labor  and  capital  in  the  same  in 
dividuals,  by  a  system  of  combined  and  organized 
industry.  This  question,  it  is  more  than  probable, 
will  not  be  set  aside  at  once,  whenever  its  importance 
is  fully  perceived,  and  those  who  are  interested  in  its 
decision  will  find  materials  of  no  small  value  in  the 
writings  of  M.  Fourier.  They  may  be  regarded,  in 
some  sense,  as  the  scientific  analysis  of  the  coopera 
tive  principle,  which  has,  within  a  few  years  past, 
engaged  the  public  attention  in  England,  and  in 
certain  cases,  received  a  successful,  practical  appli 
cation. 

Michael  Angela,  considered  as  a  Philosophic  Poet, 
with  Translations.  By  JOHN  EDWARD  TAYLOR. 
London:  Saunders  &  Otley,  Conduit  Street.  1840. 

We  welcome  this  little  book  with  joy,  and  a  hope 
that  it  may  be  republished  in  Boston.  It  would  find, 
probably,  but  a  small  circle  of  readers,  but  that  circle 
would  be  more  ready  to  receive  and  prize  it  than  the 
English  public,  for  whom  it  was  intended,  if  we  may 
judge  by  the  way  in  which  Mr.  Taylor,  all  through 
his  prefatory  essay,  has  considered  it  necessary  to 
apologize  for,  or,  at  least,  explain  views  very  com 
monly  received  among  ourselves. 


REVIEWS   OF   BOOKS  155 

The  essay  is  interesting  from  the  degree  of  ac 
quaintance  it  exhibits  with  some  of  those  great  ones, 
who  have  held  up  the  highest  aims  to  the  soul,  and 
from  the  degree  of  insight  which  reverence  and  deli 
cacy  of  mind  have  given  to  the  author.  From  every 
line  comes  the  soft  breath  of  green  pastures  where 
"  walk  the  good  shepherds." 

Of  the  sonnets,  we  doubt  the  possibility  of  making 
good  translations  into  English.  No  gift  of  the  Muse 
is  more  injured  by  change  of  form  than  the  Italian 
sonnet.  As  those  of  Petrarch  will  not  bear  it,  from 
their  infinite  grace,  those  of  Dante  from  their  mystic 
and  subtle  majesty;  so  these  of  Angelo,  from  the 
nigged  naivete  with  which  they  are  struck  off  from 
the  mind,  as  huge  splinters  of  stone  might  be 
from  some  vast  block,  can  never  be  "done  into 
English,"  as  the  old  translators,  with  an  intelligent 
modesty,  were  wont  to  write  of  their  work.  The 
grand  thought  is  not  quite  evaporated  in  the  process, 
but  the  image  of  the  stern  and  stately  writer  is 
lost.  We  do  not  know  again  such  words  as  "  con 
cetto,"  "superna"  in  their  English  representa 
tives. 

But  since  a  knowledge  of  the  Italian  language  is 
not  so  common  an  attainment  as  could  be  wished, 
we  ought  to  be  grateful  for  this  attempt  to  ex 
tend  the  benefit  of  these  noble  expressions  of  the 
faith  which  inspired  one  of  the  most  full  and 
noble  lives  that  has  ever  redeemed  and  encouraged 
man. 

Fidelity  must  be  the  highest  merit  of  these  trans 
lations;  for  not  even  an  Angelo  could  translate  his 
peer.  This,  so  far  as  we  have  looked  at  them,  they 
seem  to  possess.  And  even  in  the  English  dress,  we 
think  none,  to  whom  they  are  new,  can  read  the  son 
nets,  — 


156  REVIEWS, OF   BOOKS 

"  Veggi°  nel  volto  tuo  col  pensier  mie." 
"  S'un  casto  amor,  s'una  pieta  superna." 
"  La  vita  del  mio  amor  non  e  cuor  mio." 


and  others  of  the  same  pure  religion,  without  a  delight 
which  shall 

"  Cast  a  light  upon  the  day, 
A  light  which  will  not  go  away, 
A  sweet  forewarning." 

We  hope  they  may  have  the  opportunity.  It  is  a 
very  little  book  with  a  great  deal  in  it,  and  five  hun 
dred  copies  will  sell  in  two  years. 

We  add  Mr.  Taylor's  little  preface,  which  happily 
expresses  his  design. 

"  The  remarks  on  the  poetry  and  philosophy  of 
Michael  Angelo,  which  are  prefixed  to  these  transla 
tions,  have  been  collected  and  are  now  published,  in 
the  hope  that  they  may  invite  the  student  of  literature 
to  trace  the  relation  which  unites  the  efforts  of  the 
pure  intelligence  and  the  desires  of  the  heart  to  their 
highest  earthly  accomplishment  under  the  complete 
forms  of  Art.  For  the  example  of  so  eminent  a  mind, 
watched  and  judged  not  only  by  its  finished  works, 
but,  as  it  were,  in  its  growth  and  from  its  inner  source 
of  Love  and  Knowledge,  cannot  but  enlarge  the 
range  of  our  sympathy  for  the  best  powers  and  pro 
ductions  of  man.  And  if  these  pages  should  meet 
with  any  readers  inclined,  like  their  writer,  to  seek 
and  to  admire  the  veiled  truth  and  solemn  beauty  of 
the  elder  time,  they  will  add  their  humble  testimony 
to  the  fact,  that  whatever  be  the  purpose  and  tenden 
cies  of  the  time  we  live  in,  we  are  not  all  unmind 
ful  of  the  better  part  of  our  inheritance  in  this 
world." 


REVIEWS    OF   BOOKS  157 

The  Worship  of  the  Soul.  A  Discourse  preached  to 
the  Third  Congregational  Society  in  Chelsea,  at 
the  Dedication  of  their  Chapel,  on  Sunday  Morn 
ing,  September  13,  1840.  By  SAMUEL  D.  ROB- 
BINS.  Chelsea  and  Boston:  B.  H.  Greene.  1840. 
8vo,  pp.  16. 

This  Discourse  is  pervaded  by  a  deeper  vein  of 
thought  than  we  are  wont  to  look  for,  or  to  find  in  the 
occasional  services  of  the  pulpit.  We  should  rejoice 
to  know  that  there  is  any  considerable  number  of  per 
sons  among  the  congregations  that  assemble  in  the 
churches  for  Sabbath  worship,  who  take  delight  in 
such  simple,  fervent,  and  practical  expositions  of  re 
ligious  truth  as  are  here  set  forth.  This  Dis 
course,  however,  indicates  more  than  it  unfolds;  it 
is  not  a  complete  and  harmonious  whole;  and  it 
will  be  read  with  greater  profit  by  those  who 
watch  for  every  gleam  of  sun-light,  than  by  those 
whose  eyes  are  open  only  to  the  broadest  glare  of 
noon. 

The  following  passage  expresses  the  feelings  of 
many  who  are  accustomed  to  distinguish  between  re 
ligion,  as  it  existed  in  the  divine  idea  of  Jesus,  and  the 
religion  which  ventures  to  assume  his  name,  as  an  ex 
clusive  badge  at  the  present  day, 

"  The  occasion  which  assembles  us  is  one  of  thrill 
ing  interest.  At  a  day  when  the  whole  aspect  of  the 
church  and  the  world  seems  to  present  strong  tenden 
cies  toward  revolution;  while  on  all  sides  men  seem 
to  be  outgrowing  the  tyranny  of  forms,  and  overleap 
ing  all  former  barriers  which  have  been  raised  be 
tween  themselves  and  perfect  freedom,  we  come  to 
consecrate  this  temple  to  the  worship  of  the  Father 
of  our  Spirits,  and  thus  bear  our  humble  testimony 
that  we  can  find  in  Christian  usages,  and  the  Chris- 


158  REVIEWS    OF    BOOKS 

tian's  faith,  all  that  we  need  for  our  mental  and  spirit 
ual  advancement  in  the  path  to  heaven.  We  feel, 
however  others  may  consider  the  subject,  that  in  the 
Bible  and  in  the  Saviour,  are  revealed  to  us  Infinite 
Truths,  which  man  can  never  outgrow,  which  as  yet 
the  world  have  scarcely  imagined.  And  although  we 
do  not  believe  that  the  Christianity  of  Society,  or  the 
Christianity  of  the  Church,  as  they  appear  in  the 
present  age,  are  by  any  means  perfect,  we  do  feel  that 
the  Christianity  of  Jesus  is  perfect,  perpetual,  and 
eternal:  that  the  age  will  never  arrive  when  man  can 
not  draw  from  the  fountain  of  God's  truth,  the 
waters  of  life  and  salvation."  -  pp.  3,  4. 

The  characteristics  of  Christianity,  as  described  by 
Mr.  Robbins,  and  the  offices  of  the  church,  are  worthy 
of  attention.  In  reading  this  statement,  we  cannot 
but  be  struck  with  the  incongruity  between  the  ideal 
church  of  the  preacher,  and  the  actual  church  of  mod 
ern  society. 

"  I  have  said  that  Christianity  is  emphatically  the 
science  of  the  soul ;  and  I  regard  this  view  of  the  re 
ligion  of  Jesus  as  infinitely  important.  We  have  our 
Universities  and  our  Schools  which  are  instituted  for 
the  purpose  of  teaching  and  explaining  the  natural 
sciences  and  the  philosophy  of  the  intellect.  But  the 
Church  is  consecrated  only  to  the  higher  purposes  of 
instruction  in  the  knowledge  of  the  human  heart  and 
conscience;  in  the  mysteries  of  the  soul,  its  laws  and 
duties  and  destiny.  We  gather  ourselves  into  this 
holy  place  to  learn  those  mighty  truths  which  relate 
to  God  and  man.  We  come  up  hither  from  the 
world  and  its  trials  and  dangers  to  listen  to  the 
wisdom  of  Jesus,  and  learn  those  deep  lessons  of 
faith  and  obedience  and  love,  by  which  we  are 
to  become  ripened  daily  into  the  image  of  Infinite 
Holiness. 


REVIEWS    OF   BOOKS  159 

"  There  is  a  higher  life  than  that  which  most  spirits 
live.  A  higher  love  than  most  spirits  know.  There 
is  an  infinity  in  the  human  soul  which  few  have  yet 
believed,  and  after  which  few  have  aspired.  There 
is  a  lofty  power  of  moral  principle  in  the  depths  of 
our  nature,  which  is  nearly  allied  to  omnipotence; 
compared  with  which  the  whole  force  of  outward  na 
ture  is  more  feeble  than  an  infant's  grasp.  There  is  a 
might  within  the  soul  which  sets  at  nought  all  outward 
things;  and  there  is  a  joy  unspeakable  and  full  of 
glory,  dwelling  in  the  recesses  of  the  good  man's 
heart  too  vast  for  utterance.  There  is  a  spiritual  in 
sight  to  which  the  pure  soul  reaches,  more  clear  and 
prophetic,  more  wide  and  vast  than  all  telescopic  vis 
ion  can  typify.  There  is  a  faith  in  God  and  a  clear 
perception  of  his  will  and  designs  and  Providence 
and  Glory,  which  gives  to  its  possessor  a  confidence 
and  patience  and  sweet  composure,  under  every  varied 
and  troublous  aspect  of  events,  such  as  no  man  can 
realize,  who  has  not  felt  its  influences  in  his  own  heart. 
There  is  a  communion  with  God  in  which  the  soul 
feels  the  presence  of  the  unseen  One,  in  the  profound 
depths  of  its  being,  with  a  vivid  distinctness,  and  a 
holy  reverence,  such  as  no  word  can  describe.  There 
is  a  state  of  union  of  spirit  with  God,  I  do  not  say 
often  reached,  yet  it  has  been  attained  in  this  world, 
in  which  all  the  past  and  present,  and  future  seem 
reconciled,  and  Eternity  is  won  and  enjoyed;  and 
God  and  man,  earth  and  heaven  with  all  their  mys 
teries  are  apprehended  in  truth,  as  .they  lie  in  the 
mind  of  the  Infinite.  But  the  struggle  with  most 
beings  is  to  spiritualize  the  actual,  to  make  those 
things  which  are  immediately  around  them  subserve 
the  higher  interests  of  their  immortal  nature;  and 
finding  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  do  this,  they 
faint  in  the  way,  and  postpone  to  a  future  life  that 


160  REVIEWS    OF    BOOKS 

higher  being  which  their  thought  apprehends,  and 
their  hearts  long  for,  but  cannot  reach.  Hence  it  is 
that  the  advanced  powers  of  the  soul  of  which  I  have 
been  speaking  are  not  believed  to  exist  for  us,  in  this 
world  at  least ;  and  therefore  the  few  who  will  strive 
for  them,  because  they  dare  not  compromise  their 
highest  thought  and  life  and  love,  are  looked  upon 
as  spiritual  star-gazers,  as  visionaries  dwelling  amid 
the  beautiful  creations  of  their  own  ardent  hearts. 
Hence  it  is  that  in  our  age  the  Church  and  its  highest 
influences  is  needed,  to  declare  to  the  wide  world 
those  precious  promises  which  are  destined  to  carry 
comfort  and  peace  to  the  deepest  emotions  of  the 
struggling  soul;  to  speak  to  all  men  everywhere  in 
the  name  of  Jesus,  teaching  them  that  the  highest  and 
loveliest  visions  which  the  human  mind  in  its  most 
rapt  hour  of  aspiration,  has  enjoyed  of  Truth  and 
Life,  of  Holiness  and  Love  of  duty  and  denial  of 
growth  and  glory  of  Faith  and  .God,  are  only  the 
faintest  sketches  of  that  reality  which  Christianity 
has  brought  to  light."  —  pp.  9-11. 


Essay  sand  Poems.   By  JONES  VERY.   'Boston:  C.  C. 
Little  and  James  Brown 

This  little  volume  would  have  received  an  earlier 
notice,  if  we  had  been  at  all  careful  to  proclaim  our 
favorite  books.  The  genius  of  this  book  is  religious, 
and  reaches  an  extraordinary  depth  of  sentiment. 
The  author,  plainly  a  man  of  a  pure  and  kindly  tem 
per,  casts  himself  into  the  state  of  the  high  and  tran 
scendental  obedience  to  the  inward  Spirit.  He  has 
apparently  made  up  his  mind  to  follow  all  its  lead 
ings,  though  he  should  be  taxed  with  absurdity  or  even 
with  insanity.  In  this  enthusiasm  he  writes  most  of 


REVIEWS    OF   BOOKS  161 

these  verses,  which  rather  flow  through  him  than  from 
him.  There  is  no  composition,  no  elaboration,  no  ar 
tifice  in  the  structure  of  the  rhyme,  no  variety  in  the 
imagery;  in  short,  no  pretension  to  literary  merit, 
for  this  would  be  departure  from  his  singleness,  and 
followed  by  loss  of  insight.  He  is  not  at  liberty  even 
to  correct  these  unpremeditated  poems  for  the  press; 
but  if  another  will  publish  them,  he  offers  no  objec 
tion.  In  this  way  they  have  come  into  the  world,  and 
as  yet  have  hardly  begun  to  be  known.  With  the 
exception  of  the  few  first  poems,  which  appear  to  be 
of  an  earlier  date,  all  these  verses  bear  the  unques 
tionable  stamp  of  grandeur.  They  are  the  breathings 
of  a  certain  entranced  devotion,  which  one  would  say, 
should  be  received  with  affectionate  and  sympathi 
zing  curiosity  by  all  men,  as  if  no  recent  writer  had 
so  much  to  show  them  of  what  is  most  their  own. 
They  are  as  sincere  a  litany  as  the  Hebrew  songs  of 
David  or  Isaiah,  and  only  less  than  they,  because  in 
debted  to  the  Hebrew  muse  for  their  tone  and  genius. 
This  makes  the  singularity  of  the  book,  namely,  that 
so  pure  an  utterance  of  the  most  domestic  and  primi 
tive  of  all  sentiments  should  in  this  age  of  revolt  and 
experiment  use  once  more  the  popular  religious  lan 
guage,  and  so  show  itself  secondary  and  morbid. 
These  sonnets  have  little  range  of  topics,  no  extent  of 
observation,  no  playfulness;  there  is  even  a  certain 
torpidity  in  the  concluding  lines  of  some  of  them, 
which  reminds  one  of  church  hymns ;  but,  whilst  they 
flow  with  great  sweetness,  they  have  the  sublime  unity 
of  the  Decalogue  or  the  Code  of  Menu,  and  if  as 
monotonous,  yet  are  they  almost  as  pure  as  the  sounds 
of  surrounding  Nature.  We  gladly  insert  from  a 
newspaper  the  following  sonnet,  which  appeared  since 
the  volume  was  printed. 


162  REVIEWS    OF   BOOKS 


THE  BARBERRY  BUSH 

The  bush  that  has  most  briars  and  bitter  fruit, 

Wait  till  the  frost  has  turned  its  green  leaves  red, 

Its  sweetened  berries  will  thy  palate  suit, 

And  thou  may'st  find  e'en  there  a  homely  bread. 

Upon  the  hills  of  Salem  scattered  wide, 

Their  yellow  blossoms  gain  the  eye  in  Spring; 

And  straggling  e'en  upon  the  turnpike's  side, 

Their  ripened  branches  to  your  hand  they  bring, 

I've  plucked  them  oft  in  boyhood's  early  hour, 

That  then  I  gave  such  name,  and  thought  it  true; 

But  now  I  know  that  other  fruit  as  sour 

Grows  on  what  now  thou  callest  Me  and  You; 

Yet,  wilt  thou  wait  the  autumn  that  I  see, 

Will  sweeter  taste  than  these  red  berries  be. 

At  the  request  of  a  friend  the  following  notice 
is  inserted  of  a  book  about  to  be  published,  called 
"The  Ideal  Man."  Boston:  E.  P.  Peabody. 
1842. 


This  book  is  somewhat  out  of  the  common  course 
of  American  books  on  manners,  morals,  and  religion. 
But  we  think  it  had  better  have  been  named  the  Cul 
tivated  Gentleman,  than  to  have  assumed  the  title  of 
Thet  Ideal  Man.  It  is  a  manual  of  good  manners,  of 
pure  aims,  and  of  honorable  and  praiseworthy  con 
duct,  and  especially  is  opposed  to  that  negligence  of 
form  which  runs  so  to  excess  with  us.  But  it  does  not 
recommend  or  tolerate  anything  hollow  or  unmean 
ing.  The  good  manners  must  signify  good  taste, 
good  morals,  good  learning,  and  sincere  religion.  It 
bears  marks  of  being  written  by  a  foreigner,  in  its 
style  as  well  as  matter,  though  he  writes  in  the  char 
acter  of  an  American. 


REVIEWS    OF    BOOKS  163 

The  Zincali:  or  an  Account  of  the  Gypsies  of  Spain; 
with  an  Original  Collection  of  their  Songs  and 
Poetry.  By  GEORGE  BORROW.  Two  Volumes  in 
New  York:  Wiley  &  Putnam. 

Our  list  of  tribes  in  America  indigenous  and  im 
ported  wants  the  Gypsies,  as  the  Flora  of  the  western 
hemisphere  wants  the  race  of  heaths.  But  as  it  is  all 
one  to  the  urchin  of  six  years,  whether  the  fine  toys 
are  to  be  found  in  his  father's  house  or  across  the  road 
at  his  grandfather's,  so  we  have  always  domesticated 
the  Gypsy  in  school-boy  literature  from  the  English 
tales  and  traditions.  This  reprinted  London  book  is 
equally  sure  of  being  read  here  as  in  England,  and  is 
a  most  acceptable  gift  to  the  lovers  of  the  wild  and 
wonderful.  There  are  twenty  or  thirty  pages  in  it  of 
fascinating  romantic  attraction,  and  the  whole  book, 
though  somewhat  rudely  and  miscellaneously  put  to 
gether,  is  animated,  and  tells  us  what  we  wish  to 
know.  Mr.  Borrow  visited  the  Gypsies  in  Spain  and 
elsewhere,  as  an  agent  of  the  British  and  Foreign 
Bible  Society,  and  seems  to  have  been  commended  to 
this  employment  by  the  rare  accomplishment  of  a 
good  acquaintance  with  the  language  of  this  singular 
people.  How  he  acquired  his  knowledge  of  their 
speech,  which  seems  to  have  opened  their  hearts  to 
hkn,  he  does  not  inform  us;  and  he  appears  to  have 
prospered  very  indifferently  in  the  religious  objects 
of  his  mission;  but  to  have  really  had  that  in  his  na 
ture  or  education  which  gave  him  access  to  the  Gypsy 
gang,  so  that  he  has  seen  them,  talked  confidentially 
with  them,  and  brought  away  something  distinct 
enough  from  them. 

He  has  given  us  sketches  of  their  past  and  present 
manner  of  life  and  employments,  in  the  different 
European  states,  collected  a  strange  little  magazine 


164  REVIEWS   OF   BOOKS 

of  their  poetry,  and  added  a  vocabulary  of  their  lan 
guage.  He  has  interspersed  some  anecdotes  of  life 
and  manners,  which  are  told  with  great  spirit. 

This  book  is  very  entertaining,  and  yet,  out  of 
mere  love  and  respect  to  human  nature,  we  must  add 
that  this  account  of  the  Gypsy  race  must  be  imperfect 
and  very  partial,  and  that  the  author  never  sees  his 
object  quite  near  enough.  For,  on  the  whole,  the 
impression  made  by  the  book  is  dismal ;  the  poverty, 
the  employments,  conversations,  mutual  behavior  of 
the  Gypsies,  are  dismal ;  the  poetry  is  dismal.  Men 
do  not  love  to  be  dismal,  and  always  have  their  own 
reliefs.  If  we  take  Mr.  Sorrow's  story  as  final,  here  is 
a  great  people  subsisting  for  centuries  unmixed  with 
the  surrounding  population,  like  a  bare  and  blasted 
heath  in  the  midst  of  smiling  plenty,  yet  cherishing 
their  wretchedness,  by  rigorous  usage  and  tradition, 
as  if  they  loved  it.  It  is  an  aristocracy  of  rags,  and 
suffering,  and  vice,  yet  as  exclusive  as  the  patricians 
of  wealth  and  power.  We  infer  that  the  picture  is 
false;  that  resources  and  compensations  exist,  which 
are  not  shown  us.  If  Gypsies  are  pricked,  we  believe 
they  will  bleed;  if  wretched,  they  will  jump  at  the 
first  opportunity  of  bettering  their  condition.  What 
unmakes  man  is  essentially  incredible.  The  air  may 
be  loaded  with  fogs  or  with  fetid  gases,  and  continue 
respirable;  but  if  it  be  decomposed,  it  can  no  longer 
sustain  life.  The  condition  of  the  Gypsy  may  be  bad 
enough,  tried  by  the  scale  of  English  comfort,  and  yet 
appear  tolerable  and  pleasant  to  the  Gypsy,  who  finds 
attractions  in  his  out-door  way  of  living,  his  freedom, 
and  sociability,  which  the  Agent  of  the  Bible  Society 
does  not  reckon.  !A.nd  we  think  that  a  traveller  of 
another  way  of  thinking  would  not  find  the  Gypsy 
so  void  of  conscience  as  Mr.  Borrow  paints  him,  as 
the  differences  in  that  particular  are  universally  exag- 


REVIEWS   OF   BOOKS  165 

gerated  in  daily  conversation.  And  lastly,  we  sus 
pect  the  walls  of  separation  between  the  Gypsy  and 
the  surrounding  population  are  less  firm  than  we  are 
here  given  to  understand. 

'Ancient  Spanish  Ballads,  Historical  and  Romantic. 
Translated,  with  Notes.  By  J.  G.  LOCKHART. 
New  York:  Wiley  &  Putnam. 

The  enterprising  publishers,  Messrs.  Wiley  &  Put 
nam,  who  have  reprinted,  in  a  plain  but  very  neat 
form,  Mr.  Lockhart's  gorgeously  illustrated  work, 
have  judiciously  prefixed  to  it,  by  way  of  introduc 
tion,  a  critique  on  the  book  from  the  Edinburgh  Re 
view,  and  have  added  at  the  end  of  the  volume  an 
analytical  account,  with  specimens  of  the  Romance 
of  the  Cid,  from  the  Penny  Magazine.  This  is  done 
with  the  greatest  propriety,  for  the  Cid  seems  to  be 
the  proper  centre  of  Spanish  legendary  poetry.  The 
Iliad,  the  Nibelungen,  the  Cid,  the  Robin  Hood  Bal 
lads,  Frithiof s  Saga,  (for  the  last  also  depends  for 
its  merit  on  its  fidelity  to  the  legend,)  are  five  ad 
mirable  collections  of  early  popular  poetry  of  so  many 
nations;  and  with  whatever  difference  of  form,  they 
possess  strong  mutual  resemblances,  chiefly  apparent 
in  the  spirit  which  they  communicate  to  the  reader, 
of  health,  vigor,  cheerfulness,  and  good  hope.  In  this 
day  of  reprinting  and  of  restoration,  we  hope  that 
Southey's  Chronicle  of  the  Cid,  which  is  a  kind  of 
"  Harmony  of  the  Gospels "  of  the  Spanish  Ro 
mance,  may  be  republished  in  a  volume  of  convenient 
size.  That  is  a  strong  book,  and  makes  lovers  and 
admirers  of  "  My  Cid,  the  Perfect  one,  who  was  born 
in  a  fortunate  hour."  Its  traits  of  heroism  and  bursts 
of  simple  emotion,  once  read,  can  never  be  forgotten; 
*'  I  am  not  a  man  to  be  besieged;  "  and  "  God!  What 


166  REVIEWS    OF    BOOKS 

a  glad  man  was  the  Cid  on  that  day,"  and  many  the 
like  words  still  ring  in  our  ears.  The  Cortes  at  To 
ledo,  where  judgment  was  given  between  the  Cid  and 
his  sons-in-law,  is  one  of  the  strongest  dramatic  scenes 
in  literature.  Several  of  the  best  ballads  in  Mr.  Lock- 
hart's  collection  recite  incidents  of  the  Cid's  history. 
The  best  ballad  in  the  book  is  the  "  Count  Alar  cos 
and  the  Infanta  Solisa,"  which  is  a  meet  companion 
for  Chaucer's  Griselda.  The  "  Count  Garci  Perez 
de  Vargas  "  is  one  of  our  favorites;  and  there  is  one 
called  the  "  Bridal  of  Andalla,"  which  we  have  long 
lost  all  power  to  read  as  a  poem,  since  we  have  heard 
it  sung  by  a  voice  so  rich,  and  sweet,  and  penetrating, 
as  to  make  the  ballad  the  inalienable  property  of  the 
singer. 

Tecumseh;  a  Poem.    By  GEORGE  H.  COLTON.    New 
York:  Wiley  &  Putnam 

This  pleasing  summer-day  story  is  the  work  of  a 
well  read,  cultivated  writer,  with  a  skilful  ear,  and  an 
evident  admirer  of  Scott  and  Campbell.  There  is  a 
metrical  sweetness  and  calm  perception  of  beauty 
spread  over  the  poem,  which  declare  that  the  poet  en 
joyed  his  own  work;  and  the  smoothness  and  literary 
finish  of  the  cantos  seem  to  indicate  more  years  than 
it  appears  our  author  has  numbered.  Yet  the  perusal 
suggested  that  the  author  had  written  this  poem  in 
the  feeling,  that  the  delight  he  has  experienced  from 
Scott's  effective  lists  of  names  might  be  reproduced 
in  America  by  the  enumeration  of  the  sweet  and 
sonorous  Indian  names  of  our  waters.  The  success  is 
exactly  correspondent.  The  verses  are  tuneful,  but 
are  secondary;  and  remind  the  ear  so  much  of  the 
model,  as  to  show  that  the  noble  aboriginal  names 
wore  not  suffered  to  make  their  own  measures  in  the 


REVIEWS   OF   BOOKS  167 

poet's  ear,  but  must  modulate  their  wild  beauty  to  a 
foreign  metre.  They  deserved  better  at  the  author's 
hands.  We  felt,  also,  the  objection  that  is  apt  to  lie 
against  poems  on  new  subjects  by  persons  versed  in 
old  books,  that  the  costume  is  exaggerated  at  the  ex 
pense  of  the  man.  The  most  Indian  thing  about  the 
Indian  is  surely  not  his  moccasins,  or  his  calumet,  his 
wampum,  or  his  stone  hatchet,  but  traits  of  char 
acter  and  sagacity,  skill  or  passion;  which  would 
be  intelligible  at  Paris  or  at  Pekin,  and  which 
Scipio  or  Sidney,  Lord  Clive  or  Colonel  Crockett 
would  be  as  likely  to  exhibit  as  Osceola  and  Black 
Hawk. 

Poems.     By  ALFRED  TENNYSON.     Two  Volumes. 
Boston:  W.  D.  Ticknor 

Tennyson  is  more  simply  the  songster  than  any 
poet  of  our  time.  With  him  the  delight  of  musical 
expression  is  first,  the  thought  second.  It  was  well 
observed  by  one  of  our  companions,  that  he  has  de 
scribed  just  what  we  should  suppose  to  be  his  method 
of  composition  in  this  verse  from  ' '  The  Miller's 
Daughter." 

"  A  love-song  I  had  somewhere  read, 
An  echo  from  a  measured  strain, 

Beat  time  to  nothing  in  my  head 
From  some  odd  corner  of  the  brain. 

It  haunted  me,  the  morning  long, 
With  weary  sameness  in  the  rhymes, 

The  phantom  of  a  silent  song, 
That  went  and  came  a  thousand  times." 

So  large  a  proportion  of  even  the  good  poetry  of 
our  time  is  either  over-ethical  or  over-passionate,  and 
the  stock  poetry  is  so  deeply  tainted  with  a  sentimen- 


168  REVIEWS   OF   BOOKS 

tal  egotism,  that  this,  whose  chief  merits  lay  in  its 
melody  and  picturesque  power,  was  most  refreshing. 
What  a  relief,  after  sermonizing  and  wailing  had 
dulled  the  sense  with  such  a  weight  of  cold  abstrac 
tion,  to  be  soothed  by  this  ivory  lute! 

Not  that  he  wanted  nobleness  and  individuality  in 
his  thoughts,  or  a  due  sense  of  the  poet's  vocation; 
but  he  won  us  to  truths,  not  forced  them  upon  us;  as 
we  listened,  the  cope 

"  Of  tKe  self -attained  futurity 
Was  cloven  with  the  million  stars  which  tremble 
O'er  the  deep  mind  of  dauntless  infamy." 

And  he  seemed  worthy  thus  to  address  his  friend, 

"  Weak  truth  a-leaning  on  Her  crutcK, 
Wan,  wasted  truth  in  her  utmost  need, 
Thy  kingly  intellect  shall  feed, 
Until  she  be  an  athlete  bold." 

Unless  thus  sustained,  the  luxurious  sweetness  of 
his  verse  must  have  wearied.  Yet  it  was  not  of  aim 
or  meaning  we  thought  most,  but  of  his  exquisite  sense 
for  sounds  and  melodies,  as  marked  by  himself  in  the 
description  of  Cleopatra. 

"  Her  warbling  voice,  a  lyre  of  widest  range, 
Touched  by  all  passion,,  did  fall  down  and  glance 
From  tone  to  tone,  and  glided  through  all  change 
Of  liveliest  utterance." 

Or  in  the  fine  passage  in  the  Vision  of  Sin,  where 

11  Then  the  music  touched  the  gates  and  died ; 
Rose  again  from  where  it  seemed  to  fail, 
Stormed  in  orbs  of  song,  a  growing  gale ; "  &c. 


REVIEWS    OF   BOOKS  169 

Or  where  the  Talking  Oak  composes  its  serenade  for 
the  pretty  Alice ;  —  but  indeed  his  descriptions  of 
melody  are  almost  as  abundant  as  his  melodies,  though 
the  central  music  of  the  poet's  mind  is,  he  says,  as  that 
of  the 

"  fountain 

Like  sheet  lightning, 

Ever  brightening 
With  a  low  melodious  thunder; 
All  day  and  all  night  it  is  ever  drawn 
From  the  brain  of  the  purple  mountain 
Which  stands  in  the  distance  yonder: 
It  springs  on  a  level  of  bowery  lawn, 
And  the  mountain  draws  it  from  heaven  above, 
And  it  sings  a  song  of  undying  love." 

Next  to  his  music,  his  delicate,  various,  gorgeous 
music,  stands  his  power  of  picturesque  representa 
tion.  And  his,  unlike  those  of  most  poets,  are  eye- 
pictures,  not  mind-pictures.  And  yet  there  is  no  hard 
or  tame  fidelity,  but  a  simplicity  and  ease  at  represen 
tation  (which  is  quite  another  thing  from  reproduc 
tion)  rarely  to  be  paralleled.  How,  in  the  Palace  of 
Art,  for  instance,  they  are  unrolled  slowly  and  grace 
fully,  as  if  painted  one  after  another  on  the  same  can 
vass.  The  touch  is  calm  and  masterly,  though  the 
result  is  looked  at  with  a  sweet,  self-pleasing  eye. 
Who  can  forget  such  as  this,  and  of  such  there  are 
many,  painted  with  as  few  strokes  and  with  as  com 
plete  a  success? 

"  A  still  salt  pool,  locked  in  with  bars  of  sand ; 

Left  on  the  shore;    that  hears  all  night 
The  plunging  seas  draw  backward  from  the  land 
Their  moon-led  waters  white/' 

Tennyson  delights  in  a  garden.  Its  groups,  an'd 
walks,  and  mingled  bloom  intoxicate  him,  and  us 


170  REVIEWS   OF   BOOKS 

through  him.  So  high  is  his  organization,  and  so 
powerfully  stimulated  by  color  and  perfume,  that  it 
heightens  all  our  senses  too,  and  the  rose  is  glorious, 
not  from  detecting  its  ideal  beauty,  but  from  a  per 
fection  of  hue  and  scent,  we  never  felt  before.  All 
the  earlier  poems  are  flower-like,  and  this  tendency  is 
so  strong  in  him,  that  a  friend  observed,  he  could  not 
keep  up  the  character  of  the  tree  in  his  Oak  of  Sum 
mer  Chase,  but  made  it  talk  like  an  "  enormous 
flower."  The  song, 

"  A  spirit  haunts  the  year's  last  hours," 

is  not  to  be  surpassed  for  its  picture  of  the  autumnal 
garden. 

The  new  poems,  found  in  the  present  edition,  show 
us  our  friend  of  ten  years  since  much  altered,  yet  the 
same.  The  light  he  sheds  on  the  world  is  mellowed 
and  tempered.  If  the  charm  he  threw  around  us  be 
fore  was  somewhat  too  sensuous,  it  is  not  so  now;  he 
is  deeply  thoughtful ;  the  dignified  and  graceful  man 
has  displaced  the  Antinous  beauty  of  the  youth.  His 
melody  is  less  rich,  less  intoxicating,  but  deeper;  a 
sweetness  from  the  soul,  sweetness  as  of  the  hived 
honey  of  fine  experiences,  replaces  the  sweetness 
which  captivated  the  ear  only,  in  many  of  his  earlier 
verses.  His  range  of  subjects  was  great  before,  and 
is  now  such  that  he  would  seem  too  merely  the  ama 
teur,  but  for  the  success  in  each,  which  says  that  the 
same  fluent  and  apprehensive  nature,  which  threw 
itself  with  such  ease  into  the  forms  of  outward  beauty, 
has  now  been  intent  rather  on  the  secrets  of  the  sha 
ping  spirit.  In  "  Locksley  Hall,"  "  St.  Simeon  Sty- 
lites,"  "Ulysses,"  "Love  and  Duty,"  "The  Two 
Voices,"  are  deep  tones,  that  bespeak  that  acquain 
tance  with  realities,  of  which,  in  the  "  Palace  of  Art," 


REVIEWS    OF    BOOKS  171 

he  had  expressed  his  need.  The  keen  sense  of  out 
ward  beauty,  the  ready  shaping  fancy,  had  not  been 
suffered  to  degrade  the  poet  into  that  basest  of  beings, 
an  intellectual  voluptuary,  and  a  pensive  but  serene 
wisdom  hallows  all  his  song. 

His  opinions  on  subjects,  that  now  divide  the 
world,  are  stated  in  two  or  three  of  these  pieces,  with 
that  temperance  and  candor  of  thought,  now  more 
rare  even  than  usual,  and  with  a  simplicity  bordering 
on  homeliness  of  diction,  which  is  peculiarly  pleasing, 
from  the  sense  of  plastic  power  and  refined  good  sense 
it  imparts. 

A  gentle  and  gradual  style  of  narration,  without 
prolixity  or  tameness,  is  seldom  to  be  found  in  the 
degree  in  which  such  pieces  as  "  Dora  "  and  "  Go- 
diva  "  display  it.  The  grace  of  the  light  ballad  pieces 
is  as  remarkable  in  its  way,  as  was  his  grasp  and  force 
in  "  Oriana."  "  The  Lord  of  Burleigh,"  "  Edward 
Gray,"  and  "  Lady  Clare,"  are  distinguished  for  dif 
ferent  shades  of  this  light  grace,  tender,  and  speaking 
more  to  the  soul  than  the  sense,  like  the  different  hues 
in  the  landscape,  when  the  sun  is  hid  in  clouds,  so 
gently  shaded  that  they  seem  but  the  echoes  of  them 
selves. 

I  know  not  whether  most  to  admire  the  bursts  of 
passion  in  "  Locksley  Hall,"  the  playful  sweetness 
of  the  "  Talking  Oak,"  or  the  mere  catching  of  a 
cadence  in  such  slight  things  as 

"  Break,  break,  break 
On  thy  cold  gray  stones,  O  sea/'  &c. 

Nothing  is  more  uncommon  than  the  lightness  of 
touch,  which  gives  a  charm  to  such  little  pieces  as  the 
"  Skipping  Rope." 

We  regret  much  to  miss  from  this  edition  "  The 
Mystic,"  "  The  Deserted  House,"  and  "  Elegiacs," 


172  REVIEWS    OF   BOOKS 

all  favorites  for  years  past,  and  not  to  be  disparaged 
in  favor  of  any  in  the  present  collection.  England, 
we  believe,  has  not  shown  a  due  sense  of  the  merits 
of  this  poet,  and  to  us  is  given  the  honor  of  rendering 
homage  more  readily  to  an  accurate  and  elegant  in 
tellect,  a  musical  reception  of  nature,  a  high  ten 
dency  in  thought,  and  a  talent  of  singular  fineness, 
flexibility,  and  scope. 

A  Letter  to  Rev.  Wm.  E.  Channing,  D.  D.  By  O. 
A.  BROWNSON.  Boston:  Charles  C.  Little  and 
James  Brown.  1842. 

That  there  is  no  knowledge  of  God  possible  to 
man  but  a  subjective  knowledge,  —  no  revelation  but 
the  development  of  the  individual  within  himself,  and 
to  himself,  —  are  prevalent  statements,  which  Mr. 
Brownson  opposes  by  a  single  formula,  that  life  is 
relative  in  its  very  nature.  God  alone  is;  all  crea 
tures  live  by  virtue  of  what  is  not  themselves,  no  less 
than  by  virtue  of  what  is  themselves,  the  prerogative 
of  man  being  to  do  consciously,  that  is,  more  or  less, 
intelligently.  Mr.  Brownson  carefully  discriminates 
between  Essence  and  Life.  Essence,  being  object  to 
itself,  alone  has  freedom,  which  is  what  the  old  theo 
logians  named  sovereignty ;  —  a  noble  word  for  the 
thing  intended,  were  it  not  desecrated  in  our  asso 
ciations,  in  being  usurped  by  creatures  that  are 
slaves  to  time  and  circumstance.  But  life  implies 
a  causative  object,  as  well  as  causative  subject; 
wherefore  creatures  are  only  free  by  Grace  of 
God. 

That  men  should  live,  with  God  for  predominating 
object,  is  the  Ideal  of  Humanity,  or  the  Law  of  Holi 
ness,  in  the  highest  sense;  for  this  object  alone  can 
emancipate  them  from  what  is  below  themselves. 


REVIEWS   OF   BOOKS  173 

But  a  nice  discrimination  must  be  made  here.  The 
Ideal  of  Humanity,  as  used  by  Mr.  Brownson,  does 
not  mean  the  highest  idea  of  himself,  which  a  man 
can  form  by  induction  on  himself  as  an  individual ;  it 
means  God's  idea  of  man,  which  shines  into  every 
man  from  the  beginning;  "  Enlighteneth  every  man 
that  cometh  into  the  world,"  though  his  darkness  com- 
prehendeth  it  not,  until  it  is  "  made  flesh."  It  is  by 
virtue  of  that  freedom  which  is  God's  alone,  and  which 
is  the  issue  of  absolute  love,  that  is,  "  because  God  so 
loved  the  world,"  he  takes  up  the  subject,  Jesus,  and 
makes  himself  objective  to  him  without  measure, 
thereby  rendering  his  life  as  divine  as  it  is  human, 
though  it  remains  also  as  human,  —  strictly  speak 
ing,  —  as  it  is  divine. 

To  all  men's  consciousness  it  is  true  that  God  is 
objective  in  a  degree,  or  they  were  not  distinctively 
human.  His  glory  is  refracted,  as  it  were,  to  their 
eyes,  through  the  universe.  But  only  in  a  man,  to 
whom  he  has  made  himself  the  imperative  object,  does 
he  approach  men,  in  all  points,  in  such  degree  as  to 
make  them  divine.  He  is  no  less  free  (sovereign)  in 
coming  to  each  man  in  Christ,  than,  in  the  first  in 
stance,  in*  making  Jesus  of  Nazareth  the  Christ.  Men 
are  only  free  inasmuch  as  they  are  open  to  this  majes 
tic  access,  and  are  able  to  pray  with  St.  Augustine, 
"What  art  thou  to  me,  oh  Lord?  Have  mercy  on 
me  that  I  may  ask.  The  house  of  my  soul  is  too 
strait  for  thee  to  come  into;  but  let  it,  oh  Lord,  be 
enlarged  by  thee.  It  is  ruinous,  but  let  it  be  repaired 
by  thee,"  &c. 

The  Unitarian  Church,  as  Mr.  Brownson  thinks, 
indicates  truth,  in  so  far  as  it  insists  on  the  life  of 
Jesus  as  being  that  wherein  we  find  grace ;  but  in  so 
far  as  it  does  not  perceive  that  this  life  is  something 
more  than  a  series  of  good  actions,  which  others  may 


174  REVIEWS   OF   BOOKS 

reproduce,  it  leans  on  an  arm  of  flesh,  and  puts  an 
idol  in  the  place  of  Christ.  The  Trinitarian  Church, 
he  thinks,  therefore,  has  come  nearer  the  truth,  by 
its  formulas  of  doctrine;  and  especially  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church,  by  the  Eucharist.  The  error  of 
both  Churches  has  been  to  predicate  of  the  being, 
Jesus,  what  is  only  true  of  his  life.  The  being,  Jesus, 
was  a  man;  his  life  is  God.  It  is  the  doctrine  of  John 
the  Evangelist  throughout,  that  the  soul  lives  by  the 
real  presence  of  Jesus  Christ,  as  literally  as  the  body 
lives  by  bread.  The  unchristianized  live  only  par 
tially,  by  so  much  of  the  word  as  shines  in  the  dark 
ness  which  may  not  hinder  it  quite.  This  partial  life 
repeats  in  all  time  the  prophecies  of  antiquity,  and  is 
another  witness  to  Jesus  Christ,  "  the  same  yester 
day,  to-day,  and  forever." 

Mr.  Brownson  thinks  that  he  has  thus  discovered 
a  formula  of  "  the  faith  once  delivered  to  the  saints," 
which  goes  behind  and  annihilates  the  controversy 
between  Unitarians  and  Trinitarians,  and  may  lead 
them  both  to  a  deeper  comprehension  and  clearer  ex 
pression  of  the  secret  of  life. 

Confessions  of  St.  Augustine.    Boston:  E.  P.  Pea- 
body 

We  heartily  welcome  this  reprint  from  the  recent 
London  edition,  which  was  a  revision,  by  the  Oxford 
divines,  of  an  old  English  translation.  It  is  a  rare 
addition  to  our  religious  library.  The  great  Augus 
tine,  —  one  of  the  truest,  richest,  subtlest,  eloquentest 
of  authors,  comes  now  in  this  American  dress,  to  stand 
on  the  same  shelf  with  his  far-famed  disciples,  with 
A-Kempis,  Herbert,  Taylor,  Scougal,  and  Fenelon. 
The  Confessions  have  also  a  high  interest  as  one  of 
the  honestest  autobiographies  ever  written.  In  this 


REVIEWS    OF    BOOKS  175 

view  it  takes  even  rank  with  Montaigne's  Essays, 
with  Luther's  Table  Talk,  the  Life  of  John  Bunyan, 
with  Rousseau's  Confessions,  and  the  Life  of  Dr. 
Franklin.  In  opening  the  book  at  random,  we  have 
fallen  on  his  reflections  on  the  death  of  his  early 
friend. 

"  O  madness,  which  knowest  not  how  to  love  men 
like  men!  I  fretted,  sighed,  wept,  was  distracted,  had 
neither  rest  nor  counsel.  For  I  bore  about  a  shattered 
and  bleeding  soul,  impatient  of  being  borne  by  me, 
yet  where  to  repose  it  I  found  not.  All  things  looked 
ghastly;  yea,  the  very  light;  whatsoever  was  not 
what  he  was,  was  revolting  and  hateful,  except  groan 
ing  and  tears.  In  those  alone  found  I  a  little  refresh 
ment.  I  fled  out  of  my  country;  for  so  should 
mine  eyes  look  less  for  him  where  they  were  not  wont 
to  see  him.  And  thus  from  Thagaste  I  came  to 
Carthage.  Times  lose  no  time;  nor  do  they  roll  idly 
by ;  through  our  senses  they  work  strange  operations 
on  the  mind.  Behold,  they  went  and  came  day  by 
day,  and  by  coming  and  going  introduced  into  my 
mind  other  imaginations  and  other  remembrances; 
and  little  by  little  patched  me  up  again  with  my  old 
kind  of  delights  unto  which  that  my  sorrow  gave  way. 
And  yet  there  succeeded  not  indeed  other  griefs,  yet 
the  causes  of  other  griefs.  For  whence  had  that 
former  grief  so  easily  reached  my  inmost  soul  but  that 
I  had  poured  out  my  soul  upon  the  dust  in  loving  one, 
that  must  die,  as  if  he  would  never  die.  For  what 
restored  and  refreshed  me  chiefly,  was  the  solaces  of 
other  friends  with  whom  I  did  love  what  instead  of 
thee  I  loved:  and  this  was  a  great  fable  and  pro 
tracted  lie,  by  whose  adulterous  stimulus  our  soul, 
which  lay  itching  in  our  ears,  was  defiled.  But  that 
fable  would  not  die  to  me  so  oft  as  any  of  my  friends 
died.  There  were  other  things  which  in  them  did 


176  REVIEWS    OF   BOOKS 

more  take  my  mind;  to  talk  and  jest  together;  to  do 
kind  offices  by  turns;  to  read  together  honied  books; 
to  play  the  fool  or  be  earnest  together;  to  dissent  at 
times  without  discontent,  as  a  man  might  with  his 
ownself ;  and  even  with  the  seldomness  of  those  dis- 
sentings,  to  season  our  more  frequent  consentings; 
sometimes  to  teach,  and  sometimes  learn;  long  for 
the  absent  with  impatience,  and  welcome  the  coming 
with  joy." 


The  Bible  in  Spain.,  or  the  Journeys,  ^Adventures,  and 
Imprisonments  of  an  Englishman  in  an  attempt 
to  circulate  the  Scriptures  in  the  Peninsula.  By 
GEORGE  BORROW.  Author  of  "  The  Gypsies  in 
Spain." 

This  is  a  charming  book,  full  of  free  breezes,  and 
mountain  torrents,  and  pictures  of  romantic  interest. 
Mr.  Borrow  is  a  self-sufficing  man  of  free  nature,  his 
mind  is  always  in  the  fresh  air;  he  is  not  unworthy 
to  climb  the  sierras  and  rest  beneath  the  cork  trees 
where  we  have  so  often  enjoyed  the  company  of  Don 
Quixote.  And  he  has  the  merit,  almost  miraculous 
to-day,  of  leaving  us  almost  always  to  draw  our  own 
inferences  from  what  he  gives  us.  We  can  wander 
on  in  peace,  secure  against  being  forced  back  upon 
ourselves,  or  forced  sideways  to  himself.  It  is  as 
good  to  read  through  this  book  of  pictures,  as  to  stay 
in  a  house  hung  with  Gobelin  tapestry.  The  Gypsies 
are  introduced  here  with  even  more  spirit  than  in  his 
other  book.  He  sketches  men  and  nature  with  the 
same  bold  and  clear,  though  careless  touch.  Cape 
Finisterre  and  the  entrance  into  Gallicia  are  as  good 
parts  as  any  to  look  at. 


REVIEWS    OF   BOOKS  177 

Paracelsus 

Mr.  Browning  was  known  to  us  before,  by  a  little 
book  called  "  Pippa  Passes,"  full  of  bold  openings, 
motley  with  talent  like  this,  and  rich  in  touches  of 
personal  experience.  A  version  of  the  thought  of  the 
day  so  much  less  penetrating  than  Faust  and  Festus 
cannot  detain  us  long;  yet  we  are  pleased  to  see  each 
man  in  his  kind  bearing  witness,  that  neither  sight 
nor  thought  will  enable  to  attain  that  golden  crown 
which  is  the  reward  of  life,  of  profound  experiences 
and  gradual  processes,  the  golden  crown  of  wisdom. 
The  artist  nature  is  painted  with  great  vigor  in 
Aprile.  The  author  has  come  nearer  that,  than  to 
the  philosophic  nature.  There  is  music  in  the  love  of 
Festus  for  his  friend,  especially  in  the  last  scene,  the 
thought  of  his  taking  sides  with  him  against  the  di 
vine  judgment  is  true  as  poesy. 

Antislavery  Poems.    By  JOHN  PIERPONT.    Boston: 
Oliver  Johnson.    1843 

These  poems  are  much  the  most  readable  of  all  the 
metrical  pieces  we  have  met  with  on  the  subject;  in 
deed,  it  is  strange  how  little  poetry  this  old  outrage 
of  negro  slavery  has  produced.  Cowper's  lines  in  the 
Task  are  still  the  best  we  have.  Mr.  Pierpont  has  a 
good  deal  of  talent,  and  writes  very  spirited  verses, 
full  of  point.  He  has  no  continuous  meaning  which 
enables  him  to  write  a  long  and  equal  poem,  but  every 
poem  is  a  series  of  detached  epigrams,  some  better, 
some  worse.  His  taste  is  not  always  correct,  and 
from  the  boldest  flight  he  shall  suddenly  alight  in  very 
low  places.  Neither  is  the  motive  of  the  poem  ever 
very  high,  so  that  they  seem  to  be  rather  squibs  than 
prophecies  or  imprecations;  but  for  political  satire, 


178  REVIEWS    OF   BOOKS 

we  think  the  "  Word  from  a  Petitioner  "  very  strong, 
and  the  "  Gag  "  the  best  piece  of  poetical  indignation 
in  America. 

Sonnets  and  other  Poems.     By  WILLIAM  LLOYD 
GARRISON.     Boston.     1843.     pp.  96 

Mr.  Garrison  has  won  his  palms  in  quite  other 
fields  than  those  of  the  lyric  muse,  and  he  is  far  more 
likely  to  be  the  subject  than  the  author  of  good 
poems.  He  is  rich  enough  in  the  earnestness  and  the 
success  of  his  character  to  be  patient  with  the  very 
rapid  withering  of  the  poetic  garlands  he  has  snatched 
in  passing.  Yet  though  this  volume  contains  little 
poetry,  both  the  subjects  and  the  sentiments  will 
everywhere  command  respect.  That  piece  in  the  vol 
ume,  which  pleased  us  most,  was  the  address  to  his 
first-born  child. 

America  —  an  Ode;   and  other  Poems.    By  N.  W. 
COFFIN.    Boston:  S.  G.  Simpkins 

Our  Maecenas  shakes  his  head  very  doubtfully  at 
this  well-printed  Ode,  and  only  says,  "  An  ode  now 
adays  needs  to  be  admirable  to  carry  sail  at  all. 
Mr.  Sprague's  Centennial  Ode,  and  Ode  at  the  Shak- 
speare  Jubilee,  are  the  only  American  lyrics  that  we 
have  prospered  in  reading,  —  if  we  dare  still  remem 
ber  them."  Yet  he  adds  mercifully,  "  The  good 
verses  run  like  golden  brooks  through  the  dark  for 
ests  of  toil,  rippling  and  musical,  and  undermine  the 
heavy  banks  till  they  fall  in  and  are  borne  away. 
Thirty-five  pieces  follow  the  Ode,  of  which  every 
thing  is  neat,  pretty,  harmonious,  tasteful,  the  senti 
ment  pleasing,  manful,  if  not  inspired.  If  the  poet 
have  nothing  else,  he  has  a  good  ear." 


REVIEWS    OF   BOOKS  179 

Poems  by  WILLIAM  ELLERY  CHANNING.     Boston. 

1843 

We  have  already  expressed  our  faith  in  Mr.  Chan- 
ning'3  genius,  which  in  some  of  the  finest  and  rarest 
traits  of  the  poet  is  without  a  rival  in  this  country. 
This  little  volume  has  already  become  a  sign  of  great 
hope  and  encouragement  to  the  lovers  of  the  muse. 
The  refinement  and  the  sincerity  of  his  mind,  not  less 
than  the  originality  and  delicacy  of  the  diction,  are 
not  merits  to  be  suddenly  apprehended,  but  are  sure 
to  find  a  cordial  appreciation.  Yet  we  would  will 
ingly  invite  any  lover  of  poetry  to  read  "  The  Earth- 
Spirit,"  "Reverence,"  "The  Lover's  Song," 
"  Death,"  and  "  The  Poet's  Hope." 

To  Correspondents 

We  are  greatly  indebted  to  several  friends,  for  the 
most  part  anonymous,  for  literary  contributions,  and 
not  less  indebted  in  those  cases  in  which  we  have  not 
found  the  pieces  sufficiently  adapted  to  our  purpose 
to  print  them.  The  Dial  has  been  almost  as  much  a 
journal  of  friendship  as  of  literature  and  morals,  and 
its  editors  have  felt  the  offer  of  any  literary  aid  as  a 
token  of  personal  kindness.  Had  it  been  practicable, 
we  should  gladly  have  obeyed  the  wish  to  make  a  spe 
cial  acknowledgment  of  each  paper  that  has  been  con 
fided  to  us,  explaining  in  each  instance  the  reason  for 
withholding  it.  We  wish  to  say  to  our  Correspond 
ents,  that,  printed  or  unprinted,  these  papers  are 
welcome  and  useful  to  us,  if  only  as  they  confirm  or 
qualify  our  own  opinions,  and  give  us  insight  into  the 
thinking  of  others. 

In  the  last  quarter,  we  have  received  several  papers, 
some  of  which,  after  some  hesitation,  we  decide  not 


180  REVIEWS   OF   BOOKS 

to  print.  One  of  these  is  a  translation  whicE  (with 
out  comparing  it  with  the  original)  seems  to  us  excel 
lent,  of  Schiller's  Critique  on  Goethe's  Egmont,  and 
that  it  may  not  through  our  omission,  fail  to  be  read, 
we  shall  leave  the  MS.  for  a  time  with  our  publishers, 
subject  to  the  order  of  the  writer.  We  have  also  re 
ceived  from  A.  Z.  a  poetical  translation  from  Richter; 
from  A.  C.  L.  A.  a  paper  on  the  Spirit  of  Polythe 
ism;  from  a  friend  at  Byfield,  a  poetical  fragment 
called  "The  Ship;"  from  our  correspondent  C.  at 
New  Bedford,  a  poem  called  "  The  Two  Argosies; " 
from  R.  P.  R.  some  elegiac  verses;  from  J.  A.  S. 
"  Lady  Mirbel's  Dirge." 

The  Huguenots  in  France  and  'America 

The  Huguenots  is  a  very  entertaining  book,  drawn 
from  excellent  sources,  rich  in  its  topics,  describing 
many  admirable  persons  and  events,  and  supplies  an 
old  defect  in  our  popular  literature.  The  editor's 
part  is  performed  with  great  assiduity  and  conscience. 
Yet  amidst  this  enumeration  of  all  the  geniuses,  and 
beauties,  and  sanctities  of  France,  what  has  the  great 
est  man  in  France,  at  that  period,  Michael  de  Mon 
taigne,  done,  or  left  undone,  that  his  name  should  be 
quite  omitted? 

The  Spanish  Student.    A  Play  in  Three  Acts.    By 
H.  W.  LONGFELLOW 

A  pleasing  tale,  but  Cervantes  shall  speak  for  us 
out  of  La  Gitanilla. 

"  You  must  know,  Preciosa,  that  as  to  this  name  of 
Poet,  few  are  they  who  deserve  it,  —  and  I  am  no 
Poet,  but  only  a  lover  of  Poesy,  so  that  I  have  no 
need  to  beg  or  borrow  the  verses  of  others.  The 


REVIEWS    OF    BOOKS  181 

verses,  I  gave  you  the  other  day,  are  mine,  and  those 
of  to-day  as  well ;  —  but,  for  all  that,  I  am  no  poet, 
neither  is  it  my  prayer  to  be  so." 

"  Is  it  then  so  bad  a  thing  to  be  a  poet?"  asked 
Preciosa. 

"  Not  bad,"  replied  the  Page,  "  but  to  be  a  poet 
and  nought  else,  I  do  not  hold  to  be  very  good.  For 
poetry  should  be  like  a  precious  jewel,  whose  owner 
does  not  put  it  on  every  day,  nor  show  it  to  the  world 
at  every  step;  but  only  when  it  is  fitting,  and  when 
there  is  a  reason  for  showing  it.  Poetry  is  a  most 
lovely  damsel ;  chaste,  modest,  and  discreet ;  spirited, 
but  yet  retiring,  and  ever  holding  itself  within  the 
strictest  rule  of  honor.  She  is  the  friend  of  Solitude. 
She  finds  in  the  fountains  her  delight,  in  the  fields  her 
counsellor,  in  the  trees  and  flowers  enjoyment  and 
repose;  and  lastly,  she  charms  and  instructs  all  that 
approach  her." 

The  Dream  of  a  Day,  and  other  Poems.    By  JAMES 
G.  PERCIVAL.    New  Haven,  1843 

Mr.  Percival  printed  his  last  book  of  poems  six 
teen  years  ago,  and  every  school-boy  learned  to  de 
claim  his  "  Bunker  Hill,"  since  which  time,  he  in 
forms  us,  his  studies  have  been  for  the  most  part  very 
adverse  to  poetic  inspirations.  Yet  here  we  have 
specimens  of  no  less  than  one  hundred  and  fifty  dif 
ferent  forms  of  stanza.  Such  thorough  workmanship 
in  the  poetical  art  is  without  example  or  approach  in 
this  country,  and  deserves  all  honor.  We  have  imita 
tions  of  four  of  the  leading  classes  of  ancient  meas 
ures, —  the  Dactylic,  Iambic,  Anapestic,  and  Tro 
chaic,  to  say  nothing  of  rarer  measures,  now  never 
known  out  of  colleges.  Then  come  songs  for  national 
airs,  formed  on  the  rhythm  of  the  music,  including 


182  REVIEWS    OF    BOOKS 

Norwegian,  German,  Russian,  Bohemian,  Gaelic, 
and  Welsh,  —  Teutonian  and  Slavonian.  But  un 
happily  this  diligence  is  not  without  its  dangers.  It 
Jaas  prejudiced  the  creative  power, 

"  And  made  that  art,  which  was  a  rage." 

Neatness,  terseness,  objectivity,  or  at  any  rate  the 
absence  of  subjectivity,  characterize  these  poems. 
Our  bard  has  not  quite  so  much  fire  as  we  had  looked 
for,  grows  warm  but  does  not  ignite;  those  sixteen 
years  of  "  adverse  "  studies  have  had  their  effect  on 
Pegasus,  who  now  trots  soundly  and  resolutely  on, 
but  forbears  rash  motions,  and  never  runs  away  with 
us.  The  old  critics  of  England  were  hardly  steadier 
to  their  triad  of  "  Gower,  Lydgate,  and  Chaucer," 
than  our  American  magazines  to  the  trinity  of  "  Bry 
ant,  Dana,  and  Percival."  A  gentle  constellation 
truly,  all  of  the  established  religion,  having  the  good 
of  their  country  and  their  species  at  heart.  Percival 
has  not  written  anything  quite  as  good  on  the  whole 
as  his  two  fast  associates,  but  surpasses  them  both  in 
labor,  in  his  mimetic  skill,  and  in  his  objectiveness. 
He  is  the  most  objective  of  the  American  Poets. 
Bryant  has  a  superb  propriety  of  feeling,  has  plainly 
always  been  in  good  society,  but  his  sweet  oaten  pipe 
discourses  only  pastoral  music.  Dana  has  the  most 
established  religion,  more  sentiment,  more  reverence, 
more  of  England ;  whilst  Mr.  Percival  is  an  upright, 
soldierly,  free-spoken  man,  very  much  of  a  patriot, 
hates  cant,  and  does  his  best. 


POEMS 


POEMS 


MY   THOUGHTS 


MANY  are  the  thoughts  that  come  to  me 

In  my  lonely  musings; 
And  they  drift  so  strange  and  swift, 

There's  no  time  for  choosing 
Which  to  follow,  for  to  leave 

Any,  seems  a  loosing. 

When  they  come,  they  come  in  flocks, 

As  on  glancing  feather, 
Startled  birds  rise  one  by  one 

In  Autumnal  weather, 
Waking  one  another  up 

From  the  sheltering  heather. 

Some  so  merry  that  I  laugh, 

Some  so  grave  and  serious, 
Some  so  trite,  their  least  approach 

Is  enough  to  weary  us:  — 

185 


186  POEMS 

Others  flit  like  midnight  ghosts, 
Shrouded  and  mysterious. 

There  are  thoughts  that  o'er  me  steal, 
Like  the  day  when  dawning; 

Great  thoughts  winged  with  melody 
Common  utterance  scorning, 

Moving  in  an  inward  tune, 
And  an  inward  morning. 

Some  have  dark  and  drooping  wings, 

Children  all  of  sorrow; 
Some  are  as  gay,  as  if  to-day 

Could  see  no  cloudy  morrow,  — 
And  yet,  like  light  and  shade,  they  each 

Must  from  the  other  borrow. 

One  by  one  they  come  to  me 
On  their  destined  mission; 

One  by  one  I  see  them  fade 
With  no  hopeless  vision; 

For  they've  led  me  on  a  step 
To  their  home  Elysian. 

THE  PHOENIX.1 

MY  bosom's  Phoenix  has  assured 
His  nest  in  sky-vault's  cope, 

In  the  body's  eye  immured 
He  is  weary  of  life's  hope. 

Round  and  round  this  heap  of  ashes 
Now  flies  the  bird  amain, 

But  in  that  odorous  niche  of  heaven 
Nestles  the  bird  again. 

1  The  Soul. 


POEMS  187 

Once  flies  he  upward,  he  will  perch 

On  Tuba's  l  golden  bough; 
His  home  is  on  that  fruited  arch 

Which  cools  the  blest  below. 


If  over  this  world  of  ours 

His  wings  my  Phoenix  spread, 
How  gracious  falls  on  land  and  sea 

The  soul-refreshing  shade! 

Either  world  inhabits  he, 

Sees  oft  below  him  planets  roll; 
His  body  is  all  of  air  compact, 

Of  Allah's  love,  his  soul. 


FAITH 

PLUNGE  in  your  angry  waves, 

Defying  doubt  and  care, 
And  the  flowing  of  the  seven  broad  seas 

Shall  never  wet  thy  hair. 

Is  Allah's  face  on  thee 

Bending  with  love  benign? 
Thou  too  on  Allah's  countenance 

O  fairest!  turnest  thine. 

And  though  thy  fortune  and  thy  form 
Be  broken,  waste  and  void, 

Though  suns  be  spent,  of  thy  life-root 
No  fibre  is  destroyed. 

1  The  Tree  of  Life. 


188  POEMS 


THE  POET 

HOARD  knowledge  in  thy  coffers, 
The  lightest  load  to  bear; 

Ingots  of  gold,  and  diamonds, 
Let  others  drag  with  care. 

The  devil's  snares  are  strong, 

Yet  have  I  God  in  need ; 
And  if  I  had  not  God  to  friend, 

What  can  the  devil  speed? 

Courage!   Hafiz,  though  not  thine 
Gold  wedge  and  silver  ore, 

More  worth  to  thee  the  gift  of  song, 
And  the  clear  insight  more. 

I  truly  have  no  treasure, 

Yet  have  I  rich  content; 
The  first  from  Allah  to  the  Shah, 

The  last  to  Hafiz  went. 


WORD  AND  DEED 

WHILST  roses  bloom  along  the  plain, 
The  Nightingale  to  the  Falcon  said, 
6  Why  of  all  the  birds  must  thou  be  dumb? 
With  closed  mouth  thou  utterest, 
Though  dying,  no  last  word  to  man : 
Yet  sit'st  thou  on  the  hand  of  caliphs, 
And  feedest  on  the  grouse's  breast; 
Whilst  I,  who  hundred  thousand  jewels 
Squander  in  a  single  tone, 
Lo!  I  feed  myself  with  worms, 


POEMS  189 

And  my  dwelling  is  a  thorn." 

The  Falcon  answered,  "  Be  all  ear: 

Thou  seest  I'm  dumb;  be  thou,  too,  dumb. 

I,  experienced  in  affairs, 

See  fifty  things,  say  never  one. 

But  thee  the  people  prize  not, 

Who,  doing  nothing,  say  a  hundred. 

To  me,  appointed  to  the  chase, 

The  King's  hand  gives  the  grouse's  breast, 

Whilst  a  chatterer  like  thee 

Must  gnaw  worms  in  the  thorns.    Farewell! " 


TO  HIMSELF 

HAFIZ,  speak  not  of  thy  need, 
Are  not  these  verses  thine? 

Then,  all  the  poets  are  agreed, 
Thou  canst  at  nought  repine. 


LETTERS 


LETTER    TO    CHANDLER    ROBBINS 

CONCORD,  MARCH  2d,  1845. 

MY  DEAR  SIR:  —  Had  I  remembered  any  piece  of 
mine  which  seemed  to  have  a  special  fitness  for  your 
purpose,  I  should  have  made  an  opportunity,  amidst 
a  press  of  petty  affairs,  to  name  it;  but  none  occur 
ring  to  me,  I  have  left  the  selection  to  your  and  my 
good  fortune.  It  would  have  given  me  pleasure, 
could  I  have  known  of  the  occasion  earlier,  and  if  the 
Muse  had  been  willing,  to  have  recalled  for  poetry, 
those  earlier  days  —  many  anxious,  many  pleasant, 
all  thoughtful  days,  which  I  spent  in  the  service  of 
the  Second  Church.  I  stood  a  few  weeks  ago  at  the 
foot  of  the  new  tower,  and  gazed  up  at  its  stately 
mass  and  proportions  with  great  satisfaction.  I  hope 
it  will  confer  new  benefit  every  day  as  long  as  it  shall 
stand. 

'Yours,  with  great  regard, 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 


193 


WILLIAM   EMERSON 

A  LETTER  TO  WILLIAM  B.  SPRAGUE,  D.  D. 

CONCORD,  OCTOBER  5,  1849. 

MY  DEAR  SIR  : — I  fear  you  have  the  worst  thoughts 
of  me  as  far  as  the  virtues  of  a  good  correspondent 
go.  I  ought  to  have  warned  you  at  first  that  I  am  a 
reprobate  in  that  matter.  Yet,  I  did,  on  the  receipt 
of  your  letter,  in  the  summer,  make,  with  my  mother, 
some  investigation  into  the  history  of  my  father's 
preaching,  that  he  might  make  his  own  answer,  as  you 
suggested,  to  your  inquiry  concerning  his  opinions. 
But  I  did  not  find,  in  any  manuscript  or  printed  ser 
mons  that  I  looked  at,  any  very  explicit  statement  of 
opinion  on  the  question  between  Calvinists  and  Socin- 
ians.  He  inclines  obviously  to  what  is  ethical  and 
universal  in  Christianity;  very  little  to  the  personal 
and  historical.  Indeed  what  I  found  nearest  ap 
proaching  what  would  be  called  his  creed,  is  in  a 
printed  Sermon  "  at  the  Ordination  of  Mr.  Bedee, 
of  Wilton,  N.  H."  I  think  I  observe  in  his  writings, 
as  in  the  writings  of  Unitarians  down  to  a  recent  date, 
a  studied  reserve  on  the  subject  of  the  nature  and 
offices  of  Jesus.  They  had  not  made  up  their  own 
minds  on  it.  It  was  a  mystery  to  them,  and  they  let 
it  remain  so. 

Yours  respectfully, 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 


194 


LETTER  TO  SAMUEL  GRIDLEY  HOWE 

ON  THE  "NEGRO  KIDNAPPING  IN  BOSTON 

CONCORD,  September  23,  1846. 

DR.  S.  G.  HOWE,  AND  ASSOCIATES  OF  THE  COMMIT 
TEE  OF  CITIZENS:  —  If  I  could  do  or  say  anything 
useful  or  equal  to  the  occasion,  I  would  not  fail  to 
attend  the  meeting  on  Thursday.  I  feel  the  irrepar 
able  shame  to  Boston  of  this  abduction.  I  hope  it  is 
not  possible  that  the  city  will  make  the  act  its  own, 
by  any  color  or  justification.  Our  State  has  suffered 
many  disgraces,  of  late  years,  to  spoil  our  pride  in  it, 
but  never  any  so  flagrant  as  this,  if  the  people  of  the 
Commonwealth  can  be  brought  to  be  accomplices  in 
this  crime,  —  as  nothing  will  be  too  bad  for  their 
desert,  —  so  it  is  very  certain  they  will  have  the  igno 
miny  very  faithfully  put  to  their  lips.  The  question 
you  now  propose,  is  a  good  test  of  the  honesty  and 
manliness  of  our  commerce.  If  it  shall  turn  out,  as 
desponding  men  say,  that  our  people  do  not  really 
care  whether  Boston  is  a  slave-port  or  not,  provided 
our  trade  thrives,  then  we  may,  at  least,  cease  to 
dread  hard  times  and  ruin.  It  is  high  time  our  bad 
wealth  came  to  an  end.  I  am  sure,  I  shall  very  cheer 
fully  take  my  share  of  suffering  in  the  ruin  of  such  a 
prosperity,  and  shall  very  willingly  turn  to  the  moun 
tains  to  chop  wood,  and  seek  to  find  for  myself  and 
my  children  labors  compatible  with  freedom  and 
honor. 

With  this  feeling,  I  am  proportionably  grateful  to 
Mr.  Adams  and  yourselves  for  undertaking  the  office 

195 


196        SAMUEL    GRIDLEY    HOWE 

of  putting  the  question  to  our  people,  whether  they 
will  make  this  cruelty  theirs?  and  of  giving  them  an 
opportunity  of  clearing  the  population  from  the 
stain  of  this  crime,  and  of  securing  mankind  from  the 
repetition  of  it,  in  this  quarter,  forever. 

Respectfully  and  thankfully, 
Your  obedient  servant, 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 


TWO  LETTERS  TO  HENRY  WARE,  JR. 

CONCORD,  July  28,  1838. 

WHAT  you  say  about  the  discourse  at  Divinity  Col 
lege,  is  just  what  I  might  expect  from  your  truth  and 
charity,  combined  with  your  known  opinions.  I  am 
not  a  stock  or  a  stone,  as  one  said  in  the  old  time; 
and  could  not  but  feel  pain  in  saying  some  things  in 
that  place  and  presence,  which  I  supposed  might 
meet  dissent,  and  the  dissent,  I  may  say,  of  dear 
friends  and  benefactors  of  mine.  Yet,  as  my  con 
viction  is  perfect  in  the  substantial  truth  of  the  doc 
trine  of  this  discourse,  and  is  not  very  new,  you  will 
see,  at  once,  that  it  must  appear  to  me  very  important 
that  it  be  spoken;  and  I  thought  I  would  not  pay 
the  nobleness  of  my  friends  so  mean  a  compliment, 
as  to  suppress  my  opposition  to  their  supposed  views 
out  of  fear  of  offence.  I  would  rather  say  to  them  — 
These  things  look  thus  to  me ;  to  you,  otherwise.  Let 
us  say  out  our  uttermost  word,  and  be  the  all-per 
vading  truth,  as  it  surely  will,  judge  between  us. 
Either  of  us  would,  I  doubt  not,  be  equally  glad  to 
be  apprized  of  his  error.  Meantime,  I  shall  be  ad 
monished  by  this  expression  of  your  thought,  to  re 
vise  with  greater  care  the  "  Address  "  before  it  is 
printed  (for  the  use  of  the  class),  and  I  heartily 
thank  you  for  this  renewed  expression  of  your  tried 
toleration  and  love. 

Respectfully  and  affectionately  yours, 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

CONCORD,  October  8,  1838. 

MY  DEAR  SIR:  —  I  ought  sooner  to  have  acknowl 
edged  your  kind  letter  of  last  week,  and  the  Sermon 

197 


198  HENRY   WARE,   JR. 

it  accompanied.  The  letter  was  right  manly  and 
noble.  The  Sermon,  too,  I  have  read  with  attention. 
If  it  assails  any  doctrines  of  mine  —  perhaps  I  am 
not  so  quick  to  see  it  as  writers  generally,  —  cer 
tainly  I  did  not  feel  any  disposition  to  depart  from 
my  habitual  contentment,  that  you  should  say  your 
thought,  whilst  I  say  mine. 

I  believe  I  must  tell  you  what  I  think  of  my  new 
position.  It  strikes  me  very  oddly,  that  good  and 
wise  men  at  Cambridge  and  Boston  should  think  of 
raising  me  into  an  object  of  criticism.  I  have  always 
been,  —  from  my  very  incapacity  of  methodical  wri 
ting,  —  "a  chartered  libertine "  free  to  worship  and 
free  to  rail,  —  lucky  when  I  could  make  myself  un 
derstood,  but  never  esteemed  near  enough  to  the  in 
stitution  and  mind  of  society  to  deserve  the  notice  of 
the  masters  of  literature  and  religion.  I  have  appre 
ciated  fully  the  advantages  of  my  position;  for  I 
well  know,  that  there  is  no  scholar  less  willing  or  less 
able  to  be  a  polemic.  I  could  not  give  account  of 
myself,  if  challenged.  I  could  not  possibly  give  you 
one  of  the  "  arguments "  you  cruelly  hint  at,  on 
which  any  doctrine  of  mine  stands.  For  I  do  not 
know  what  arguments  mean,  in  reference  to  any  ex 
pression  of  thought.  I  delight  in  telling  what  I 
think;  but,  if  you  ask  me  how  I  dare  say  so,  or,  why 
it  is  so,  I  am  the  most  helpless  of  mortal  men.  I  do 
not  even  see,  that  either  of  these  questions  admits  of 
an  answer.  So  that,  in  the  present  droll  posture  of 
my  affairs,  when  I  see  myself  suddenly  raised  into 
the  importance  of  a  heretic,  I  am  very  uneasy  when 
I  advert  to  the  supposed  duties  of  such  a  personage, 
who  is  to  make  good  his  thesis  against  all  comers. 

I  certainly  shall  do  no  such  thing.  I  shall  read 
what  you  and  other  good  men  write,  as  I  have  always 
done,  —  glad  when  you  speak  my  thoughts,  and 


HENRY   WARE,   JE.  199 

skipping  the  page  that  has  nothing  for  me.  I  shall 
go  on,  just  as  before,  seeing  whatever  I  can,  and 
telling  what  I  see ;  and,  I  suppose,  with  the  same  for 
tune  that  has  hitherto  attended  me;  the  joy  of  find 
ing,  that  my  abler  and  better  brothers,  who  work  with 
the  sympathy  of  society,  loving  and  beloved,  do  now 
and  then  unexpectedly  confirm  my  perceptions,  and 
find  my  nonsense  is  only  their  own  thought  in  motley. 
And  so  I  am, 

Your  affectionate  servant, 

RALPH  WAU>O  EMEBSON. 


LETTER  TO  THE  SECOND  CHURCH  AND 
SOCIETY   IN    BOSTON 

MARCH,    1829 

CHRISTIAN  BRETHREN  AND  FRIENDS:  —  I  have  re 
ceived  the  communication  transmitted  to  me  by  your 
committee  inviting  me  to  the  office  of  junior  pastor 
in  your  church  and  society.  I  accept  the  invitation. 
If  my  own  feelings  could  have  been  consulted,  I 
should  have  desired  to  postpone  for  at  least  several 
months  my  entrance  into  this  solemn  affair.  I  do  not 
now  approach  it  with  any  sanguine  confidence  in  my 
ability  nor  in  my  prospects.  I  come  to  you  in  weak 
ness  and  not  in  strength.  In  short,  I  have  not  yet 
had  an  abundant  experience  of  the  uncertainty  of 
human  hopes.  I  have  learned  the  lesson  of  utter  de 
pendency,  and  it  is  in  a  devout  reliance  upon  other 
strength  than  my  own,  in  an  humble  trust  in  God 
to  sustain  me,  that  I  put  forth  my  hands  to  his  great 
work.  But,  brethren,  while  I  distrust  my  powers,  I 
must  speak  firmly  of  my  purpose.  I  well  know 
what  are  the  claims  on  your  part  to  my  best  exer 
tions,  and  I  shall  meet  them,  so  far  as  in  me  lies,  by 
a  faithful  performance  of  duty.  I  shall  do  all  I  can 
in  approaching  these  duties. 

I  am  encouraged  by  the  strong  expression  of  con 
fidence  and  good-will  I  have  read  from  you.  I  am 
encouraged  by  the  hope  of  enjoying  the  counsel  and 
aid  of  the  distinguished  servant  of  the  Lord  who  has 
so  long  labored  with  you.  I  look  to  the  example  of 

200 


THE    SECOND    CHURCH  201 

the  Lord  in  all  my  hopes  of  advancing  his  holy  relig 
ion,  and  I  implore  the  blessing  of  God  upon  this  con 
nection  about  to  be  formed  between  you  and  myself. 
I  am  your  friend  and  servant, 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 


LETTER   TO    THE    SECOND    CHURCH 
AND    SOCIETY 

BOSTON,  22d  December,  1832. 
To  THE  SECOND  CHURCH  AND  SOCIETY. 

CHRISTIAN  FRIENDS  :  —  Since  the  formal  resigna 
tion  of  my  official  relation  to  you  in  my  communica 
tion  to  the  proprietors  in  September,  I  had  waited 
anxiously  for  an  opportunity  of  addressing  you  once 
more  from  the  pulpit,  though  it  were  only  to  say,  Let 
us  part  in  peace  and  in  the  love  of  God.  The  state 
of  my  health  has  prevented  and  continues  to  prevent 
me  from  so  doing.  I  am  now  advised  to  seek  the 
benefit  of  a  sea-voyage.  I  cannot  go  away  without  a 
brief  parting  word  to  friends  who  have  shown  me  so^ 
much  kindness,  and  to  whom  I  have  felt  myself  so* 
dearly  bound. 

Our  connection  has  been  very  short.  I  had  only 
begun  my  work.  It  is  now  brought  to  a  sudden  close, 
and  I  look  back,  I  own,  with  a  painful  sense  of  weak 
ness,  to  the  little  service  I  have  been  able  to  render, 
after  so  much  expectation  on  my  part,  —  to  the 
chequered  space  of  time,  which  domestic  affliction  and 
personal  infirmities  have  made  yet  shorter  and  more 
unprofitable. 

As  long  as  he  remains  in  the  same  place,  every  man 
flatters  himself,  however  keen  may  be  his  sense  of 
failures  and  unworthiness,  that  he  shall  yet  accom 
plish  much;  that  the  future  shall  make  amends  for 
the  past;  that  his  very  errors  shall  prove  his  instruc 
tors,  —  and  what  limit  is  there  to  hope?  But  a  sepa 
ration  from  our  place,  the  close  of  a  particular  career 

202 


THE    SECOND    CHURCH  203 

of  duty,  shuts  the  book,  bereaves  us  of  this  hope,  and 
leaves  us  only  to  lament  how  little  has  been  done. 

Yet,  my  friends,  our  faith  in  the  great  truths  of  the 
New  Testament  makes  the  change  of  places  and  cir 
cumstances,  of  less  account  to  us,  by  fixing  our  atten 
tion  upon  that  which  is  unalterable.  I  find  great  con 
solation  in  the  thought,  that  the  resignation  of  my 
present  relations  makes  so  little  change  to  myself.  I 
am  no  longer  your  minister,  but  am  not  the  less  en 
gaged,  I  hope,  to  the  love  and  service  of  the  same 
eternal  cause,  the  advancement,  namely,  of  the  king 
dom  of  God  in  the  hearts  of  men.  The  tie  that  binds 
each  of  us  to  that  cause  is  not  created  by  our  connec 
tion,  and  can  not  be  hurt  by  our  separation.  To  me, 
as  one  disciple,  is  the  ministry  of  truth,  as  far  as  I 
can  discern  and  declare  it,  committed,  and  I  desire 
to  live  nowhere  and  no  longer  than  that  grace  of  God 
is  imparted  to  me  —  the  liberty  to  seek  and  the  liberty 
to  utter  it. 

And,  more  than  this,  I  rejoice  to  believe,  my  ceas 
ing  to  exercise  the  pastoral  office  among  you,  does 
not  make  any  real  change  in  our  spiritual  relation  to 
each  other.  Whatever  is  most  desirable  and  excel 
lent  therein,  remains  to  us.  For,  truly  speaking,  who 
ever  provokes  me  to  a  good  act  or  thought,  has  given 
me  a  pledge  of  his  fidelity  to  virtue,  —  he  has  come 
under  bonds  to  adhere  to  that  cause  to  which  we  are 
jointly  attached.  And  so  I  say  to  all  you,  who  have 
been  my  counsellors  and  co-operators  in  our  Christian 
walk,  that  I  am  wont  to  see  in  your  faces,  the  seals 
and  certificates  of  our  mutual  obligations.  If  we  have 
conspired  from  week  to  week,  in  the  sympathy  and 
expression  of  devout  sentiments ;  if  we  have  received 
together  the  unspeakable  gift  of  God's  truth;  if  we 
have  studied  together  the  sense  of  any  divine  word; 
or  striven  together  in  any  charity;  or  conferred  to- 


204  THE    SECOND    CHURCH 

gether  for  the  relief  or  instruction  of  any  brother;  if 
together  we  have  laid  down  the  dead  in  a  pious  hope; 
or  held  up  the  babe  into  the  baptism  of  Christianity; 
above  all,  if  we  have  shared  in  any  habitual  acknowl 
edgment  of  that  benignant  God,  whose  omnipresence 
raises  and  glorifies  the  meanest  offices  and  the  lowest 
ability,  and  opens  heaven  in  every  heart  that  worships 
him,  —  then  indeed  are  we  united,  we  are  mutually 
debtors  to  each  other  of  faith  and  hope,  engaged  to 
persist  and  confirm  each  other's  hearts  in  obedience 
to  the  Gospel.  We  shall  not  feel  that  the  nominal 
changes  and  little  separations  of  this  world,  can  re 
lease  us  from  the  strong  cordage  of  this  spiritual 
bond.  And  I  entreat  you  to  consider  how  truly 
blessed  will  have  been  our  connection,  if  in  this  man 
ner,  the  memory  of  it  shall  serve  to  bind  each  one  of 
us  more  strictly  to  the  practice  of  our  several  duties. 
It  remains  to  thank  you  for  the  goodness  you  have 
uniformly  extended  toward  me,  for  your  forgiveness 
of  many  defects,  and  your  patient  and  even  partial 
acceptance  of  every  endeavor  to  serve  you;  for  the 
liberal  provision  you  have  ever  made  for  my  mainte 
nance;  and  for  a  thousand  acts  of  kindness,  which 
have  comforted  and  assisted  me. 

To  the  proprietors,  I  owe  a  particular  acknowledg 
ment,  for  their  recent  generous  vote  for  the  continu 
ance  of  my  salary,  and  hereby  ask  their  leave  to  re 
linquish  the  emolument  at  the  end  of  the  present 
month.  And  now,  brethren  and  friends,  having  re 
turned  into  your  hands  the  trust  you  have  honored 
me  with  —  the  charge  of  public  and  private  instruc 
tion  in  this  religious  society,  I  pray  God,  that  what 
ever  seed  of  virtue  we  have  sown  and  watered  to 
gether,  may  bear  fruit  unto  eternal  life. 

I  commend  you  to  the  Divine  Providence.  May 
He  grant  you,  in  your  ancient  sanctuary,  the  service 


THE    SECOND    CHURCH  205 

of  able  and  faithful  teachers.  May  He  multiply  to 
your  families  and  to  your  persons,  every  genuine 
blessing;  and  whatever  discipline  may  be  appointed 
to  you  in  this  world,  may  the  blessed  hope  of  the  res 
urrection,  which  He  has  planted  in  the  constitution 
of  the  human  soul,  and  confirmed  and  manifested  by 
Jesus  Christ,  be  made  good  to  you  beyond  the  grave. 
In  this  faith  and  hope,  I  bid  you  farewell. 
Your  affectionate  servant, 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 


BETTER   OF   PROTEST 

CONCORD,  September  23d,  1846. 

DR.  S.  G.  HOWE,  AND  ASSOCIATES  OF  THE  COM 
MITTEE  OF  CITIZENS  :  —  If  I  could  do  or  say  anything 
useful  or  equal  to  the  occasion,  I  would  not  fail  to 
attend  the  meeting  on  Thursday.  I  feel  the  irrepar 
able  shame  of  Boston  of  this  abduction.  I  hope  it  is 
not  possible  that  the  city  will  make  the  act  its  own, 
by  any  color  or  justification.  Our  State  has  suffered 
many  disgraces,  of  late  years,  to  spoil  our  pride  in  it, 
but  never  any  so  flagrant  as  this,  if  the  people  of  the 
Commonwealth  can  be  brought  to  be  accomplices  in 
one  crime,  —  which,  I  assure  myself,  will  never  be. 
I  hope  it  is  not  only  not  to  be  sustained  by  the  mer 
cantile  body,  but  not  even  by  the  smallest  portion  of 
that  class.  If  the  merchants  tolerate  this  crime,  —  as 
nothing  will  be  too  bad  for  their  desert,  —  so  it  is 
very  certain  they  will  have  the  ignominy  very  faith 
fully  put  to  their  lips.  The  question  you  now  pro 
pose,  is  a  good  test  of  the  honesty  and  manliness  of 
our  commerce.  If  it  shall  turn  out,  as  desponding 
men  say,  that  our  people  do  not  really  care  whether 
Boston  is  a  slave-port  or  not,  provided  our  trade 
thrives,  then  we  may,  at  least  cease  to  dread  hard 
time  and  ruin.  It  is  high  time  our  bad  wealth  came 
to  an  end.  I  am  sure  I  shall  very  cheerfully  take  my 
share  of  suffering  in  the  ruin  of  such  a  prosperity, 
and  shall  very  willingly  turn  to  the  mountain  to  chop 
wood,  and  seek  to  fold  for  myself  and  my  children 
labors  compatible  with  freedom  and  honor. 

With  this  feeling,  I  am  proportionably  grateful 

206 


LETTER   OF   PROTEST  207 

to  Mr.  Adams  and  yourselves,  for  undertaking  the 
office  of  putting  the  question  to  our  people,  whether 
they  will  make  this  cruelty  theirs?  and  of  giving 
them  an  opportunity  of  clearing  the  population  from 
the  stain  of  this  crime,  and  of  securing  mankind  from 
the  repetition  of  it,  in  this  quarter  forever. 
Respectfully  and  thankfully 

Your  obedient  servant, 
RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 


LETTER   TO   WALT   WHITMAN 

CONCORD,  MASSACHUSETTS,  21  July,  1855. 

DEAR  SIR:  —  I  am  not  blind  to  the  worth  of  the 
wonderful  gift  of  "  Leaves  of  Grass."  I  find  it  the 
most  extraordinary  piece  of  wit  and  wisdom  that 
America  has  yet  contributed.  I  am  very  happy  in 
reading  it,  as  great  power  makes  us  happy.  It  meets 
the  demand  I  am  always  making  of  what  seemed  the 
sterile  and  stingy  nature,  as  if  too  much  handiwork, 
or  too  much  lymph  in  temperament,  were  making  our 
western  wits  fat  and  mean.  I  give  you  joy  of  your 
free  and  brave  thought.  I  have  great  joy  in  it.  I 
find  incomparable  things  said  incomparably  well,  as 
they  must  be.  I  find  the  courage  of  treatment  which 
so  delights  us,  and  which  large  preception  only  can 
inspire. 

I  greet  you  at  the  beginning  of  a  great  career, 
which  yet  must  have  had  a  long  foreground  some 
where,  for  such  a  start.  I  rubbed  my  eyes  a  little,  to 
see  if  this  sunbeam  were  no  illusion;  but  the  solid 
sense  of  the  book  is  a  sober  certainty. 

It  has  the  best  merits,  namely,  of  fortifying  and 
encouraging. 

I  did  not  know  until  I  last  night  saw  the  book  ad 
vertised  in  a  newspaper  that  I  could  trust  the  name 
as  real  and  available  for  a  post-office.  I  wish  to  see 
my  benefactor,  and  have  felt  much  like  striking  my 
tasks  and  visiting  New  York  to  pay  you  my  respects. 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 


208 


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